Exile (The Continuation of Personalities)
by Avenue Potter
Summary: With Oswald's blessing, Edward and Lee leave the Van Dahl estate and Gotham on a mission to bury their daughter. But when they unexpectedly end up at an orphanage in The South, they find an opportunity to heal from the wounds of their past. [Make sure to read Personalities (and I Don't Know - the prologue to this fic) first]
1. Chapter 1

_PLEASE NOTE: This fic is nowhere near as harsh as Personalities, but I still will not warn for anything except graphic depictions of abuse, lest I give my plot away. And even though there won't be many - if any - graphic depictions of abuse going forward, it will be remembered/discussed. If you are sensitive, please proceed with caution or skip this fic altogether. Thank you._

* * *

"I love you, Edward."

Had she really said that? The dark fringe of her hair tickles both sides of his face and then her lips are on his, soft, yielding. He loves it when the two of them are trapped within the cocoon of her hair. . .

And then, there is coupling. Loud, hard, against the wall, her legs hiked up, wrapped around his waist. Her thighs, hips, firmly in his grasp as he pounds into her, aching for release. Jealous of her as she screams and her nails dig into his back so hard she draws blood when she comes . . .

"He's such a fool, Martin."

Oswald stands outside the carriage house, waving them off, one hand on his son's shoulder.

"Promise me you won't be such a fool, young man."

Edward can almost see what Martin's writing on his pad in response. He hopes it reads: "You're a fool too, Daddy."

'Cause he is. _For Edward._

And then they're off - fleeing the outskirts of Gotham. Leaving it all behind. Except for her - Kristen.

He places one hand on the glass of the tank, then two. Giving his daughter more than one option to match. But none of her four hands meet his. Her body just bobs aimlessly against the glass to some rhythm set by the useless oxygen mask attached to her face. She's blue. And it's not because of the color of the water.

He knows that he can't get to any of her hands, not even if he frantically pounds on the glass, not even if he breaks it open and she swims out. He knows, he's tried.

But when he looks down he notices one of his hands is finally holding one of her lifeless blue ones. He gives it a little shake, and then spies the tumor he had previously discovered on her torso. It balloons to unfathomable proportions before his very eyes.

And then it bursts, revealing a salad spinner, spewing her cancerous flesh all over his face. He yelps in shock.

Yes, they had actually figured out how to use one of those to torture him. He should have kept his mouth shut.

He tries to run through the kitchen to escape them. . .

 _Oh no, he's been found!_

Something's restraining his arms as he attempts to flee in panic. Something that eventually slows him down, makes him stop and face all the small pine coffins, making him look at each of them in turn. They're standing upright and he's surrounded by them.

Four sets of fingers - blue fingers - appear from underneath the lid of one of the unmarked coffins.

It needs a marker. Where's the marker?! His baby needs a marker!

"Shh, Edward, sh," he hears as he feels a cool damp cloth being applied to his forehead. "Sh, it's okay."

He awakens in an unfamiliar room, lying in an unfamiliar bed. It is dark. He can barely make her out, but Lee is the only thing he recognizes, so he grasps her wrist.

"Lee, where -" He stops himself and sits up. "Oh, yes, that's right, Mario's. We're at Mario's place."

"And mine," she reminds him.

He looks around, remembering what he had seen of it in the daylight. It didn't fit her - not what he knows of her anyway - it's way too stuffy. It was hard to imagine that she had shared this place with anyone.

He removes the cold compress - she had placed it there just to comfort him anyway because he's not sick, he's just . . .

"Lee, why are you being so kind to me? I'm incredibly pissed at you."

"I may be depressed, but I'm still human." she says wryly. "I'm not going to let you suffer alone. And by the way, I'm not Lee."

"Sorry, Doc," he says. "It's hard for me to tell anymore. You're all so sad."

"I know." She sighs dejectedly. "It's a good thing you talk in your sleep."

"More like scream."

"Yeah, but that's an even better thing. I can get to you before you turn into Mr. Somnambulist the Great."

Edward had been known to act out his dreams when he would have flashbacks mixed in with nightmares. It appears to be his mind's horrific way of processing all of the trauma he'd experienced now that he is singular and can remember it all. Apparently, splitting doesn't seem to be an option anymore. At Oswald's place it had been okay, there had been plenty of people around to slow him down before too much damage was done.

But while they had been on the road? They hadn't been so lucky.

Her arms had been what had restrained him in his dream tonight, stopping him from even leaving his bed, he was sure of it, but they had since released him. Edward also notices that she's holding his hand in comfort - and probably had been since before he had awakened - but she has yet to met his eyes. She hadn't done so since the last time they'd had it out back at Oswald's estate well over a week ago.

Their big blowout because she had sterilized herself without even discussing it with him had led to him avoiding her by day and night. Instead, he had spent the majority of his days with Oswald and Martin and his nights alone in the pool house, avoiding the main house - and her - altogether.

Until Oswald had _forced_ him to look at her, that was. To really take a good look at her . . .

Avoidance hadn't been kind to her.

* * *

Thank you again to doomed_copper for providing the beta on this story! :-)

And to Skittle479 for the medical assist. ;-)

(All mutant sci-fi-esque mistakes are mine LOL)


	2. Chapter 2

"I need to dig," Edward says.

"It's the middle of the night!" The Doc protests. "And we just got here."

"I know. But I need to dig. I need you to show me where."

"We don't even have a marker for her yet."

"Please, Doc, I need to dig. Let me do this."

"Okay," She nods. "Get dressed. Let me get my coat and some flashlights."

* * *

"You know," The Doc says as they walk out to where she and Mario had buried 'Baby Gordon' - at least, that's what his marker read - she hadn't had the heart to give him a proper first name. ". . .you may not want to dig too deep just yet. We might get rain before we're able to actually bury her."

"Why do you anticipate such a delay?"

"If you hadn't noticed during the entire trip down, so many people were on their way here from Gotham, fleeing all the destruction from months ago - even now. And many with dead loved ones -" Her breath catches in her throat.

Now it's his turn to be human - he wraps his arm around her, to steady her. Edward feels the need to _show_ love, to act on it . . . even if he's having a difficult time feeling it. That's what he had told himself, right? That love is more than a feeling - it's an action, and that he can't truly love her until he does both. So, he holds her, yet all the while, he wonders if the feeling will ever come back . . . because he misses it, and if he's honest with himself, he misses _her_.

"There's going to be a run on markers - you'll see," The Doc continues flatly. "Everyone has someone to bury."

He hadn't anticipated that. Jeremiah's fiendish plan to remake Gotham had taken a gruesome toll.

* * *

So, they were stuck here - in the house where she had lived in with Mario, who had widowed her. Filled with happy times turned grim. And, this was where she had buried Jim's unborn baby - out in the yard, near an imposing tree.

Edward stands before the grave of Baby Gordon alone - The Doc had gone back in the house. Too many memories here, not his own. And not necessarily pleasant ones.

As he sets his staff against the tree, steadies himself on his feet and breaks dirt, he remembers the day Oswald had forced him to face what was going on with Lee . . . to really _look_ at her.

 _Edward tentatively stands at the door frame. Quite a stench had built in the room. "Is she sick? Is it an infection from the procedure?"_

" _No," Oswald says firmly and pushes him in. "Go to her."_

 _The door closes behind him abruptly and he spins around, putting his hand on the knob. But how silly is it to be afraid of Lee like that? He shouldn't run away. Something has gone wrong here. Oswald wouldn't be acting this way if Lee was okay._

 _Edward steels himself and walks over to their bed, standing over it. She's still facing away from him, looking out at the pool just like she had been the last time he had poked his head in. Had she even moved? She must have. But from the smell, he could tell she hadn't bathed. In days._

" _Lee?"_

 _No response._

" _Doc? Leslie?" Who's in charge of her body right now?_

" _We're here. We're all here. We're always here," she responds despondently - and so quietly he can barely hear her._

" _What's going on?"_

 _She just shrugs._

" _Why haven't you bathed?"_

 _She groans deeply and rolls even further away from him._

" _I'm still mad, you know."_

 _No response._

" _But I want to make sure you're alright."_

" _Can't you tell that I'm fine?"_

 _She's not. He knows she's not. "You're not. And I'm not leaving until you tell me what's wrong with you."_

" _Go away, Edward. Singular Edward. We want to be alone right now."_

 _Wait? Was she jealous of him ? That he had found a way to be one?_

 _That had come out of nowhere._

As he dug the grave for his daughter, he recalled that there had been something in Strange's book - the laboratory notebook that Martin had brought to him to read during his long nights in the pool house alone that had been tickling the back of his mind. But, he had fallen asleep each night with it lying on his chest - it had all seemed so boring and redundant, chock full of information that he already knew. So what was there?


	3. Chapter 3

"How far did you get?" she inquires of him the next morning - their first morning there - as they are having breakfast at the table that she and Mario used to share. It seems like her husband's presence had lingered, trapped among the things they use to share. Yet Edward himself had not even a single keepsake of Isabella's. He frowns at the thought.

"About two feet," he answers her question matter-of-factly, not meeting her eyes, as he knows she still doesn't want him to. "Last night, I just dug long enough to clear my head. And I'm sure I'll be able to dig a grave much deeper for _this_ Kristen than for the first. She's a lot smaller, and I'm not being rushed."

"Far from it," his breakfast companion replies wryly. "I spoke with the mortuary and it's just as I thought. It's going to take them forever to get through the backlog and engrave Kristen's marker - especially because of our special request."

"But we _need_ it to be made that way," Edward says firmly.

"Agreed," she answers with a slight nod, eyes downcast.

They had requested four baby handprints to be engraved in each corner. Their daughter was special. She needed to be remembered that way.

* * *

They each kept to themselves throughout most of the day. Edward spent the majority of the time in his room with Strange's notebook, futility attempting to unlock any useful clues, and she spent her time in her bedroom. They mostly stayed clear of any common areas, like the living room, obviously avoiding each other.

He was still so angry and she was . . .

Well, besides depressed, he didn't really know what she was feeling - or which one of her he had even interacted with that morning. They were losing touch with each other. And the days dragged on that way as they waited for Kristen's marker to be delivered.

But the nights?

Sometimes he was tormented with memories distorted by dreams in a procession of nightmares that he could never truly break free of until that cold compress was on his forehead, delivered by her. And then her warm, comforting hand would always stay securely in his until he fell back asleep. Yet, she never met his gaze. . .

Until one night when he awoke within that cocoon of her hair, her body stretched along his full length.

"Riddler . . ." Hot breath escaped her lips and caressed his face.

Instinctively he reached up to touch her hair and as he opened his eyes, he could barely see hers through the shroud of night. But he could see them!

There was light shining in her pupils as she gazed down at him, but it was so dark he couldn't tell where they ended and her irises began.

"Lee? Doc?"

"Does it matter?"

 _Yes._

But he didn't have time to answer as she rolled off of him and pulled him right back on top of her. She was fully naked and reaching for the waistband of his pajamas.

He stayed her hand and whispered, "Patience. I just woke up."

"But are you really awake?" she purred.

Good question. Why was she even in here?

"I miss your riddles."

That was . . . odd.

She rolled her hips underneath his and groaned as if frustrated. "Please . . . tell me a riddle."

She bit his neck and he couldn't help but bury his hand deep within her hair to pull her head away roughly in order to kiss her. Deeply.

No. A riddle was the last thing he was going to tell her.

He grew excited as she started moaning and he trailed kisses down her neck all the way to her breasts. His tongue teased her nipples mercilessly and she sighed with impatience.

His teasing kisses trailed further down. . .

It wasn't long before he was the one grasping at his waistband, freeing himself from his confines, becoming as utterly naked as her.

He settled back down between her legs, but he still wouldn't penetrate her. Nor would he give her what she had asked for . . . a riddle.

"Please," she begged with a little whine, her hands in his hair.

He placed the tip of his cock _right there_ and said, "Tell me who you are first."

"No," she said like a petulant child.

His fingers reached between them, and he drew lazy circles at the very top of her hood, which served to make her squirm. "I'm not going to make love to you until I know who you _are_. Otherwise I have no idea who I'm dealing with, and that's just weird."

She pushed him off of her roughly and was gone within seconds. It was as if she had never even been there. He lay in bed contemplating that.

Had he dreamed it? Had he imagined it all just because he had wanted so badly to see her eyes so that he could know her again? Had he wanted to connect with her so desperately that his mind would concoct anything?

Had it even happened?

Apparently not.

The next morning's breakfast was mostly silent without any eye contact as usual. Hmm . . .


	4. Chapter 4

Later that day, as Edward passes by her room in the hallway, he's a bit startled when he notices that she's just standing there, in the doorway, an old doll or something clutched to her chest. Staring at him . . .

"Eddie?"

There's no question about who he's dealing with now. Her child's voice is unmistakable.

"Yes, Leslie?" he asks carefully, watching her chin tremble.

"I don't understand why you're being so mean to me!" she exclaims and marches back into her room, flouncing onto the bed.

He comes to the doorway and just watches her for a bit. He sees her clutch the doll tighter - no, not a doll - it looks more like a teddy bear now - and she cries into it for a while. Then, her tears let up and she pulls it away from her chest.

"Oh, Pooky Bear, I don't understand what's going on, either." She nods at the bear. "Yes, I miss him, too. But I think he's gone - just like mom. Mom and -"

Leslie bends over the bear as a fresh stream of tears pour into it. This must be the original Pooky Bear then . . .

Edward knocks softly on the doorframe so as to not startle her. "Leslie, can I come in?"

She looks over at him with a glare at first, and what she had just said - " _I don't understand why you're being so mean to me!" -_ reverberates through his head. After a tense moment, she softens just a bit and says to him quietly, "Okay. Come in."

Edward sits down on the bed beside her, taking a good look at Pooky Bear. Boy, he had not gotten Pokey Bear right at all! Pooky Bear was russet colored with tan ears, feet, and snout - and he was wearing a yellow band major's uniform, not one from the Napoleonic era. "You know I'm still Eddie, right, Leslie?"

"You look like him, but you're not him. You're Edward."

"Yes, I am Edward. But I'm still Eddie."

She just blinks, looking at him like he's grown a second head.

"It's just. . . I grew up, Leslie."

"Then why aren't you nice to us anymore? I don't understand!"

Edward sighs. He doubts Leslie could even comprehend why they are fighting even if he tried his best to explain it. And he had never been good at simplifying things for laymen, so attempting to do so for a child? He could only fail.

"What happened, Eddie? Why are you guys so mad at us?"

"There's only one of me now, Leslie."

She scrunches up her eyes at him. "Really? How does that work?"

How _had_ it worked? He truly had no idea why he had merged into just one person after Kristen's death. Losing her - and not much later, Lee and his future - were two huge losses that he had been forced to endure, one right upon the heels of the other. Shouldn't he have split even further? His mind usually couldn't handle that kind of trauma.

Hmm . . . his inability to split had to be a side effect of the resurrection, just like Little Leslie was.

He takes her hand gently.

"Leslie, most people have only one personality. You and I are different, special. I was this way from a very early age, but Professor Strange split you guys up into three just recently. He messed with me, too, and I have a feeling that he's the reason there's only one of me now - why I can no longer split since I merged." He wasn't sure his integration was a side effect of Professor Strange's interference though. That had seemed almost . . . natural. But he couldn't be sure.

"But you're still Eddie?" she asks, tears in her eyes.

"Yes, but as I explained -"

"So how come you don't play with me anymore? You spend all day giving us the silent treatment!" She drops his hand.

" _Me_? Giving you guys the silent treatment?"

"Uh huh." She nods and holds Pooky Bear even closer. "I've missed you."

"Would it make you feel better if I played with you?" Edward asks her.

She nods.

"What would you like to play?"

"Doctor!" she practically screeches and jumps off the bed. "Look Eddie! Mario kept some of his doctor stuff here. And here!"

Edward watches her collect various things from Mario's dresser and a bag on the floor. She climbs back onto the bed and hands him some stuff.

"Okay Eddie, now I have to tell you that Pooky Bear is a very sick boy." She places the bear face up between them.

"Is he, now?"

"Yes, we need to make him all better, but first we need to take his vitals so that we can make a diagnosis."

"Okay," Edward tries not to chuckle as he listens to Little Leslie with her childlike voice taking her doctoring work very seriously.

"Here," she commands, handing him a thermometer. "You take Pooky Bear's temperature and I'll listen to his heart."

She places the stethoscope on the bear's chest and listens in seriously.

Then she pulls away and shakes her head. "Just as I thought."

"What?"

"He's got a broken heart. And you found that he's cold, didn't you?"

Well, seeing as Pooky Bear is just a stuffed animal, the mercury on the thermometer had not budged, so . . . he nods.

Leslie sighs heavily and reaches for something under the covers.

Edward is absolutely shocked to see Pokey Bear - the bear he had constructed for her not long after they had been resurrected by Strange. But of course she still had him - he should have been more shocked when he first saw Lee's childhood toy, Pooky Bear, here at the grown up home she had shared with Mario.

"Poor Pokey Bear has it worse though, Eddie."

Leslie hands him over to Edward, and he has to agree that that bear looks to be in pretty bad shape compared to Pooky Bear, having been cobbled together in that pool house back at Oswald's estate all those months ago. Even though Pooky Bear had to be more than twenty-five years old, and worn, Pokey Bear was in shambles by this point.

"You see, Pokey Bear's been through so much more," Leslie says solemnly. "And his broken heart just might be damaged beyond repair."

"Why?" Edward asks her, but she doesn't quite answer the question.

Instead, she just looks at him gravely and says, "He's been so cold and still for quite a while now."

Edward stares into her eyes and feels a shiver run through his body.

He doesn't realize until later that that was the first time she had truly met his gaze since she had fled from Oswald's that one fateful night to do unspeakable things, effectively closing the door on their future.

And yes, he still feels cold.


	5. Chapter 5

"How much more have you dug?" she asks him one evening at dinner. "I notice you've been out there digging Kristen's grave in the middle of the night."

"It's almost ready," Edward replies.

"And you're doing this to clear your head?"

"Yes."

"You know we're still waiting on the marker, though."

"Of course."

"What are you going to do if you finish and it's not here?"

He shrugs. "Dig deeper?"

"Humph. . ."

The rest of the meal had been consumed in silence. Those few words had been the only conversation they had had that day. He lets himself into his room and picks up Strange's lab notebook, ready for a nice, boring night. At least, he hopes it will be. His nightmares have been hard to deal with, even with Lee or The Doc - or whoever's inhabiting her body at the time - there to hold his hand as he rejoins the land of the living.

"Azrael . . ." Now where exactly had he left off? "Oh here, yes. Strange had just resurrected Galavan . . ."

His finger trails down the page looking for that name.

 _Wait._

How had he missed it? The similarities were astounding. Theo Galavan, Tabitha's brother, had been Strange's first resurrection. And he had come back shattered. He had had so many personalities that Mrs. Peabody, Professor Strange's assistant, hadn't even been able to estimate their number.

Edward must have been so distracted by his anger towards Lee that somehow he had missed the correlation between her personality splitting upon resurrection and Galavan's. So, then, how had Strange attempted to fix it?

He reads on, more alert and focused than he had been in a week.

* * *

She removes the book from his chest as it rises and falls slowly. He barely feels her touch in his sleep. . . her nails feel like gossamer tendrils as they drift along his chest.

But by the time she is fully on top of him, he is wide awake. "Lee? Doc?"

"Shh . . ." she says and touches her index finger to his lips. "Shh . . ."

Then, she captures his lips in hers as she rubs her hips against him below.

He breaks the kiss and decides to use her 'universal' name because frustratingly she's still playing some sick and twisted game and he can never tell who she is anymore.

"Lee. . . ?"

"Edward, you have two choices."

"Okay . . ." That sounds ominous.

"You either make love to me or ask me to leave."

What?

He just stares at her, dumbfounded.

The silence between them goes on for so long that she gives up and extracts herself from him. Then, she leaves the room without saying a word.

By the next morning, yet once again, he's left wondering if that had actually happened. She is silent at breakfast and avoids him all day, yet . . .

Last night she had looked him dead in the eyes and given him two choices. _Hadn't she?_

* * *

It happens again the following night, but this time, Edward makes a choice.

He has her pinned underneath him before the question has even fully escaped her lips having just silenced them with his own, Professor Strange's forgotten notebook falling from his chest to the floor. And then he traps both of her hands in his, pushing them up over her head as she arches in pleasure beneath him. He kisses one nipple, then the other, giving each a little swirl with his warm, wet tongue. Apparently, not all of him has gone cold.

He bites her neck at first, and then suckles her as she moans softly. Her legs part for him, but he makes her wait. He loves making her wait. . .

And by the time he finally penetrates her, she cries out in her orgasm, rocking against him hard. He holds her as a few small tears escape her eyes, from ecstasy or melancholy, he cannot tell. But he's still holding her as she finishes and she stares up at him gratefully, running a hand down his cheek.

"More?" she asks softly.

"Oh yes," he whispers back. "Oh, yes."

Forehead to forehead, he moves inside of her, stroking her cheek, her breast, her hip as he does so, working up a sweat. His glasses are fogged up by the time he's ready to finish, but then she surprises him . . .

She grasps onto his lower back and digs in with the claws she calls nails to make sure he's keeping just the right rhythm to -

He sees her arch back and cry out with pleasure. She's having another -

And that's when he loses it himself. He buries his head in her chest that's arching up to meet him, smearing fog and sweat all over his glasses, knocking them cockeyed. They actually hurt as they press into his face at the wrong angles, but none of that matters as he explodes into her and groans so loudly it surpasses her cries of ecstasy.

He's panting when it's over and doesn't bother to adjust his glasses. Just lying there on her chest feels so -

And then she's gone. Just like that.

He sits bolt upright in bed, looking forlornly out the door, like he's lost something.

 _What had just happened?_


	6. Chapter 6

Their days and nights continue along in a specific pattern. They mostly keep to themselves during the day, but at night, sometimes they make love and sometimes she comforts him upon waking from his nightmares instead. However, only the latter is ever acknowledged.

But Edward isn't stupid. He knows what's really going on. He knows that she wants to connect with him they only way she knows _how_ _to_ anymore . . .

And it is a connection that he does not allow during the day. They never talk about it anymore, but he is still angry . . . and she is still sad.

Then one day, they get the news that Kristen's marker will be delivered by the end of the day.

So, uncharacteristically, they spend the day together, anticipating its delivery anxiously, waiting for this chapter of their lives to be closed so that they can move on.

They sit upon soft, sky blue sofas beside the empty, cold fireplace in the living room where she and Mario used to entertain guests. There are three sofas, and they had chosen to sit opposite each other, Edward reading Strange's lab notebook on one sofa, while she slowly sips her bourbon on another. The third sofa is empty and faces the barren fireplace between them.

It appears that Strange had gotten Theo Galavan's split mind to merge by giving him a story - and there were hints that this was a practice which had been used on other monsters created at Indian Hill as well. Strange had done it to the Mad Hatter, that firebug that had been Selina's friend, Victor Fries, and so on. All it had taken was a STORY to fuse their minds into a single identity - a story they could insert themselves into.

He looks over at her, at the woman he had once loved beyond a shadow of a doubt, despondently sucking on the rim of her empty tumbler. He wonders if there's a single story that could bring Lee, The Doc, and Leslie together . . . an identity that they could latch onto . . . is it possible that there's a story that can unite them all?

* * *

The light goes dark, and the time for anything to be delivered has long past. Edward goes over to the fireplace, inspects the firewood with the tip of his staff, finds some matches, and gets to work at revitalizing it. He finds an ottoman to sit on since crouching down is no longer an option for him. They hadn't lit the fireplace since they'd come here.

"It's not coming," Edward says as he stands back up, staring down into the fire that's just starting up. The majority of the logs in the fireplace are still dark, yet small flames lick at them teasingly, trying to coax them into a bigger production.

"I know," she says, bereft.

He looks back at her, studying her carefully. Even through the darkness, with barely a light coming from the fireplace, he can still see her hollowed out cheekbones, her sunken eyes. Has she been eating?

Of course she has. He'd been with her for every meal. But wait - _how much had she actually eaten?_ He's not sure he had been paying attention, especially since they'd never even made eye contact.

"Lee?" he asks.

"Yes, it's me," she answers.

Good. Finally, a straight answer.

"Are you doing okay?" he asks.

It's a question he hadn't asked. A question he should have asked long ago.

* * *

" _Lee?" Edward sits down on the bed, even though she's still turned away from him._

 _No answer. She hadn't uttered a word since her outburst about how he had inexplicably merged and she hadn't. A tense silence had followed. Too tense._

 _He reaches out to touch her shoulder, guiding her to roll over._

 _But she still won't meet his eyes once she's facing him - she just stares blankly at a spot past him. She looks like hell, and it's not just because she hasn't bathed. She likely hasn't eaten either, her cheeks are so hollow - it's frankly quite shocking._

 _He removes his hand from her shoulder. It doesn't feel right to touch her anymore. "Lee?"_

 _She sighs impatiently. "What do you want?"_

" _Um . . ." What DOES he want? Does he even know?_

" _I know what I want," she says after a pause._

" _What's that?"_

" _I want to bury Kristen next to my other baby - Jim's baby."_

And so they had left for Mario's, with Oswald's blessings - many of them. A car, clothing, cash . .

But no, Lee had not been okay. Definitely not.


	7. Chapter 7

Lee dips her head down after Edward finally asks about her well being. An actual inquiry, not a demand that she be okay like that first time, back at Oswald's. There's a softness between them now that hasn't been there in a while - it's been slowly building all day.

"Lee," he says, coming over to her and gently placing his hand on her shoulder after he rests his staff against the sofa.

Before he knows it, she's grabbed onto him tightly, mainly around his legs, and starts sobbing like a child.

"Lee what is it?"

She pulls her head away and tips it back to look up at him. The fire is slightly brighter and he can see the tears streaming out the sides of her eyes and into her hair.

 _She's looking at him._ Not in secret, in the middle of the night, or through Leslie, but right here, right now. _By choice._

"It's this place."

"What?"

She pushes him away gently, making sure he has his balance before standing up herself, then she just paces in front of the fireplace, empty tumbler still in hand. "I shared this place with Mario."

"I know," Edward says quietly.

"Everything in here reminds me of him and now he's gone." She shakes her head.

"That must be difficult," Edward says, having experienced a similar thing. Shortly after Isabella's death, he had departed the Van Dahl estate, leaving almost all of his tangible memories of her and their time behind . . . until his recent return.

"You know - You MUST know. You lost Isa -" She chokes up.

"Bella," Edward finishes in a whisper for her.

Lee nods and then something changes, something shifts between them. Edward goes to her, places a comforting hand on her back and she turns into his chest for a hug. It feels like the most natural thing in the world - the two of them taking solace in each other this way, but he knows it shouldn't be happening. He's still mad at her . . . _isn't he?_

They rock quietly in each other's arms in front of the fireplace, her empty tumbler finding its way to the mantle and his staff finding a resting place against it. Right now they are not embittered lovers, just two widowed souls taking solace in each other, sharing an understanding of loss.

And, she's not the only one who cries.

* * *

They find themselves on one of the blue sofas - the one in the middle, facing the fireplace. And it is a quiet affair. No words escape their lips as he gently draws down the edge of her blouse while she unbuttons it. The silk fabric trails down her shoulders, down her arms . . . and his fingers trail behind it, softly, gently.

He kisses her collarbone, breathing in her scent - that scent he loves so much. His fingers find the back of her bra, expertly unclasping it - how many times have they done this? - and freeing her breasts for his exploration. She falls back onto the cushions to let him.

* * *

When they each climax, that, too, is silent. His only indication of her finish is her strong arch beneath him and the tell-tale tilt of her head back into the cushions as he stares, mesmerized at the sheen that has broken out on her chest, glowing by the light of the fire.

He trails a hand down it as she relaxes from her arch and then places his cheek on hers, cupping the back of her head. Then he holds onto her for dear life as he delivers his final thrusts. Their other middle-of-the-night encounters had seemed so dream-like, yet this one feels visceral. _REAL._

But after he fills her up with his warmth, he utterly deflates, realizing it is going nowhere. They will never have another child together. He lays there panting, still clinging to her cheek, cupping her head, wanting to cry. Why does it have to be this way?

"Edward?"

He finds that he can't look at her. So he keeps his face buried within her hair as he answers her. "Yes?"

"Please stay," she whispers and lays her hand on the back of his neck. "When we're done here, please don't abandon me."


	8. Chapter 8

Edward never answered her plea, but it didn't mean he didn't think about it that night as they drifted off in each other's arms on that blue sofa.

Part of him had always assumed that Lee had wanted him gone, and he had been steeling himself for just that, preparing to move on without her after they buried Kristen.

 _Well, if you want kids, then, you're pretty much going to have to leave me and find some other willing victim now, aren't you?_

And the other part of him remembered his words to himself in regards to his promise to her.

 _Your sincerity will need to be tested in order for you to truly understand. When push comes to shove, hopefully it will knock some sense into that thick skull of yours._

Edward had promised to never leave her - just like he had promised to never forget Isabella. And his resolve was definitely being tested right now. But honestly, sometimes it felt like the only reason he was still here. Sure, they had a daughter to bury, but he would have found another place to stay if he had already made up his mind to leave once they were done.

Edward sighs and holds Lee's sleeping form closer to his chest as he drifts off. . .

* * *

 _Please don't abandon me._

 _Edward races through the corridors of the vestibule._

 _Wait. Vestibules don't have corridors . . ._

 _Please don't abandon me._

 _I never said that._

 _He sees himself tugging on his mother's long plaid skirt. It is red, woolen, and rough in his hands._

 _Mommy, please._

 _His mother refuses to look at him and he starts to cry like a little baby._

 _The fabric of her skirt slips out of his hands. It is grey shot through with red and it is gone in a flourish._

 _Please!_

 _He screams and collapses in the vestibule._

 _Please don't abandon me. . ._


	9. Chapter 9

_**DING! DONG!**_

The doorbell rings loudy just past dawn and wakes them up. They are still lying on the sky blue sofa facing the fireplace, tangled up in each other's arms. Lee is so startled that she almost whacks him in the eye with her elbow, but even though he can barely see in that moment, he's still fast enough to stop her. Tumbling off the couch, he reaches for his glasses as she hastily puts her clothes back on.

Once they're both put together, they open the door on a squat, balding, middle-aged man wearing a gray jumpsuit and chewing _something_ absentmindedly. Whatever it is, it doesn't smell so great.

"Yeah, sorry for the early delivery folks. But I know we missed you last night. Figured you'd want this as soon as possible."

Yes, they did. It was Kristen's headstone, her marker. Lee signed the paperwork without delay.

* * *

They meet in the hallway once they are both appropriately dressed for interring their little girl into the ground that morning. Oswald had bought each of them black suits at one point and made sure that they left with them.

"So, who abandoned you?" Lee asks, feigning casualness as they walk down the hallway from their rooms towards the front door, where they had placed Kristen's little silver cryogenic coffin the day before.

Edward feels a tightening in his chest, a stutter of fear. "Who said anyone abandoned me?"

"You talk in your sleep, remember?" She says wryly, side-eyeing him as she picks up the coffin and they head out the door.

Dammit, he needs to make sure he doesn't dream about his mother again. Talking in one's sleep can be quite dangerous. Yet, that had been a dream spawned by _her_ words. So . . .

"No one, Lee. I was obviously just re-hashing our conversation last night."

Lee blanches. "So, you heard me."

"Kinda."

"Shit," she says quietly, then puts a hand on his arm and they stop walking and face each other. The makeshift graveyard under the tree is less than twenty feet away. "Look Edward, I really didn't mean - it was in the moment -"

"It's okay, Lee."

"It's just - you can leave if you want," Lee says, meeting him in the eye firmly. "I don't want you to think -"

"I don't," he says. "Don't worry."

And he doesn't. He doesn't have any idea how she truly feels and he doesn't presume to. Her recent actions had taken him by complete surprise. He had certainly not expected her to sterilize herself after miscarrying their second child.

She had made her choice in regards to her future and now it's his turn. At least now he knows there's a decision to be made - that he has two options - because apparently she's not opposed to him staying with her. Now, he only needs to decide if he _wants_ to.


	10. Chapter 10

It had been unplugged. Edward knows that, they both knew that. But still . . .

He and Lee both gag as he opens the cryogenic chamber that their daughter's body had been stored in. There is no hiss now like there was back at Oswald's, when the chamber was still being used to preserve her body.

No, they had made the decision that their baby should have a "natural" death and burial after having such an "unnatural" life. They had kept the chamber unplugged even after they had arrived at Mario's. It truly was just a coffin now. But they hadn't wanted Kristen to be buried in it. They wanted nothing reminiscent of the start of her life in that lab, in that tank, to follow her into death.

They had planned to bury her body directly in the ground . . .

But there was almost nothing left of it.

Lee lets out a cry, then puts her hand over her mouth. Edward feels sick to his stomach. They had both worked for the GCPD - she as the ME and he as a forensic scientist - so they both know that Kristen shouldn't have decomposed that fast. What had happened to their little girl?

Seriously, what had _happened_ to her?

Lee reaches into the coffin. . .

"Lee, don't," Edward says, grabbing her wrist to stop her. It's instinctual - she isn't wearing anything to protect herself from what may be growing inside of a rotting corpse, not protective eye wear, not a lab coat, not even gloves.

"It's okay, Edward. She's our daughter. I need to."

He releases her wrist.

And then he watches in horror as Lee touches what appears to remain of one of her hands. What minimal flesh is left has turned black, and her little bones . . .

He throws up.

. . . because Lee has lifted that little hand to her cheek in her grief and is coating it in her own tears as she weeps, sinking to the ground.

He hastily wipes his mouth clean, discards his staff, and joins her on the ground, which hurts a bit. But he's not thinking about himself or his leg that moment.

"No, Lee. No!" He tugs at her forearm, trying to get her to stop, but refusing to touch the hand himself. "She's gone, Lee. You have to let her go."

"Nooooo!" she wails, pulling away from him.

"Lee," he says sternly, trying again. "You're going to get sick doing that and with Gotham in disarray -"

"Do you think I care about that, Edward?"

"You should."

"Well, I don't!" she screams. "Look around."

He does. They're in the graveyard with her other dead child. He takes a breath and calmly says, "Yes?"

"They're all dead." Lee points at Baby Gordon's headstone, shakes baby Kristen's hand, and grabs her own womb. "My children. All of them."

Realization dawns. And he feels terrible. _It can't be._ "Are you telling me you wish to join them?"

She looks at him defiantly.

"Lee, no." Instinctively, he puts his arms around her, holds her tight. "You can't mean that. You can't."

She deflates in his arms and says quietly. "I don't."

"Oh, good." He peppers kisses on the top of her head. "Good. You had me worried there."

She pulls away from him a little and places what's left of baby Kristen's hand into her lap. "Doesn't mean I don't still feel like I need to be punished, though."

"Why? Lee, we've both been through so much. Why would you think that?"

"Ever since I lost my first child and realized how fulfilling motherhood could be, I've desperately wanted kids, a family. Not just patients, but children of my own. But as it turns out, I'm a complete failure at being a mother - I can't even keep my own babies alive!" Lee buries her head on his chest and heaves up new tears.

He understands how it can taking losing a child to know how much you want one. "Lee, you're not a fail -"

She pushes him away harshly. "Then why are they all gone, huh? _Dead._ Why are all of my children DEAD?"

He has no answer for her.

"Do you see why I did it now? Why I can't go through this again?"

The real answer is still no, but he doesn't dare say so. He's just glad she's talking to him, really talking to him about all this. He reaches for her.

"Lee. . ."

She just shrugs him off and pulls away. "I need to let The Doc through. And then Leslie. So they can say goodbye."

"Okay. But, Lee . . . none of this is your fault."

She looks at him as if she doesn't understand.

"You don't need to punish yourself because your babies are gone," he clarifies. "You didn't do anything wrong."

Her eyes grow moist. "I need to go. . ."

* * *

He had tried to comfort Lee, but it ended up being The Doc who comforted _him_. She would hold him in between shoveling mounds of dirt over what remained of their little girl. He could only cover her up so far before the tears would start up again.

Sassy though she was, The Doc did not judge him. She never had - he'd always loved this side of her. And he knew had there been two shovels, she would have been moving dirt right along with him. But as there was only one, he wanted to be the one to do it - and she had let him. Despite the discomfort of having to stand squarely in just one position the entire time in order to maintain his balance without his staff, it was something he needed to do. He needed to be his child's connection to the earth.

Once they had her covered, it was time to let Little Leslie through.

"Wait. Doc. . ." Why does he feel so shy all of a sudden? What he has to say has been said before.

"Yes?" she asks.

"I . . . um. . ." Why did he feel the need to tell her now? It's perplexing. "Um, never mind."

"You okay?" she asks.

"Yes," he says. "Don't worry. Proceed."

She raises her hands to the side of her head to brace for the pain - the pain of switching that never goes away - and now there is Little Leslie. Edward takes her hand.

"Would you like to say goodbye?"

Her chin trembles before she says, "Yes."

He walks her to the marker.

She draws her index finger along all the letters.

"KRISTEN L. NYGMA"

"I'm done," she says succinctly. "I want another to take over for me now."

"Okay Leslie," he says. "That's fine."

"Bye, Eddie." She waves.

"Bye."

And then The Doc is back.

"What did you want to tell me, Edward?" she asks without missing a beat.

She is too bold.

He's caught like a fish in a net. He has to come clean. He knows that there's no hiding from her.

"That I love you." He puts a hand on her cheek and then runs his fingers through her hair. "And that I'd like to stay with you. If you'll have me."

"You're okay with not having a family?"

"No," he says honestly, lifting his chin before looking back down at her. "But I'll live."

"Because you love me?"

"Yes."

She leans in to kiss him, then places her forehead on his nose, pressing into the bridge of his glasses. She whispers, "Thank you. I don't know how I would have made it without you."

They both look over at their daughter's marker.

'Kristen L. Nygma', it says, with four little hands adorning its corners.

Edward had been surprised that she had wanted their daughter to have his name for eternity. Most unmarried women named their children after themselves it seemed - especially, ones as strong as her. And he knows that she could easily make it on her own, so it had surprised him when she said she would not have made it without him.

But then she clarifies.

"This grief is too much to bear alone."

Yes, it _is._

And so they just hold each other tightly, swaying over their daughter's grave as they both whisper promises to never let each other go, no matter how hard it gets.


	11. Chapter 11

Life is suddenly thrilling again.

"Hand it over," Edward Nygma, aka The Riddler, says with a flick of the wrist that he holds his gun in. He's dressed in a dazzling green suit and a bowler hat, ready to play his part.

The nervous woman behind the glass says, "I can't. I don't have access -"

"Sure you do, lady," The Doc says, motioning for him to step aside. She also holds a gun in her hand and points it directly at the teller. "If you don't do as he asks, the two of us are going give everyone here a little show."

The woman clutches at her throat and pulls on it a little, looking confused by what The Doc is saying. But she shouldn't be -The Riddler and The Doc had been all over the news recently, and he's already starting to grow hard in anticipation.

"Will over here be okay?" The Doc asks innocently, sauntering towards the deposit slip table and partially draping herself over it, stroking her hand along it seductively.

The Riddler grows even harder, trying not to let himself get too distracted. He has his gun pointed squarely at the anxious teller behind the glass that he knows isn't bullet proof. He's pretty sure she knows it, too. These quaint little beach towns down here in The South are still so innocent, unhardened. Nothing like Gotham.

And, easy pickings for a pair of criminals fresh out of cash.

Down here, all of the electronic forms of currency were incredibly unreliable given the destroyed state of Gotham City, the hub of commerce. So, you either had cold hard cash or you starved - and they had _no_ intention of starving.

In a flash, Lee is back at the teller's window - in her face - her excited breath misting up the glass. "Or would you prefer we do it right here?"

Before the woman can even answer, The Riddler lifts The Doc up and places her on the teller's counter, drawing up her skirt. Her bare ass presses against the glass as he pushes himself against her, tongue deep in her throat, one hand in her hair, while the other still holds his gun to the glass, still pointed straight at the teller's face. He is hard and insistent as he presses against her warmth through his pants. He moans, indicating his frustration that the cloth of his suit is still between them.

She rips his head away roughly, breaking their deep kiss. "Need a little help there?"

He nods before diving back in to bite her neck as his zipper is audibly pulled down -

"Here! Here!" The teller yelps. "Take it, take it!"

And incredibly wide grin breaks across The Riddler's face and he chuckles deeply before pulling himself completely away from The Doc and calmly zipping back up.

After The Doc hops off the counter and grabs the bricks of bound cash that have been suddenly thrust upon them, The Riddler turns to the teller.

"What, once lost can never be regained?"

The woman just stares at him blankly.

"Milton," he whispers under his breath. "Does no one read Milton any more?"

The Riddler just leaves her that way, tipping his hat to a stunned elderly couple on the way out. Both of them had failed to notice the tall middle-aged woman with frizzy graying hair who was still waiting in line as they passed. But she had been watching them carefully as she chewed on the same nasty thing that the man who had delivered Kristen's marker had been.

* * *

The windows of their fancy black car have fogged up since it's been parked along the beach. The marine layer hadn't lifted yet either, so even though it's nearing midday, basically no one can see them.

"Fuck! Oh God!" Edward groans loudly and squeezes his eyes shut as he comes into her, one of her feet slipping against the window as her leg that is lifted to the ceiling begins to shake. She is coming, too.

"Edward!" The Doc practically screams as she holds onto his neck and pants for dear life.

They may not be visible, but they sure as hell are audible.

And it's his orgasm that lasts for a while now.

"What was that?" she Doc asks, a little shocked once he's done.

He smiles impishly as he draws a strand of hair away from her moist forehead. He knows that he is responsible for making it moist, which makes him smile. "You know how much I love almost getting caught."

"Yeah, but we didn't even get to the intercourse part this time, we had that teller so flustered."

"And that," he touches her nose with the tip of his finger gently. ". . . is why we're in here."

"But why - ?"

"Why do I think we were almost caught?"

"Yeah," she answers.

"Doc, your penchant to use tranquilizers backfired this time, I'm afraid. One of the guards was waking up." He sighs. "Why you insist on that, I will never know. I know you're a killer just like me. And so do you - don't even try to deny it."

"Just because I can kill when _needed_ does not mean that I have to kill people indiscriminately. Do you have any idea how many security guards we would have left in our wake already if I had?"

"Is that why Strange is still alive?"

The Doc sits up, making him move out of the way. She grabs her blouse and starts buttoning it, not looking him in the eye. "I don't know what you mean."

"You wanted him dead as much as I did. You said so yourself, but when you had the opportunity to kill him, you didn't. Now I've got to track him down with Oswald and make him pay for what he did to Kristen, what he did to us."

"Yeah, but you'll _love_ that." She finally turns back to him and winks.

"But why? Why didn't you kill him? Was it some leftover softness, some inexplicable empathy you had for him? I'll never understand why you just let him go with no more than a conk to the head. Why didn't you follow that up with a _coup de grace_?"

"Are you being serious right now?"

"Yes. Why?"

"You were _bleeding out_. I hadn't gone soft." She sighs, frustrated. "Sorry I thought that saving your life was more important than taking one. I had to disable Strange in order to focus on _you_ and one blow to the head just wasn't enough to kill him."

"Oh." He hadn't considered that.

"Yeah, oh."


	12. Chapter 12

They had both changed into more subdued outfits to better fit in with the non-criminal refugees who had made their way down to the lazy beach towns of The South from Gotham. Lee wore a wide brimmed black hat and sunglasses - _damn,_ she looked glamorous when going incognito - while Edward donned the furthest thing from the emerald green suit they robbed banks in that he owned. A white polo shirt and khakis. He had even messed up his hair.

Lee reaches across the booth to ruffle it lovingly. "You look like the Ed that stumbled into The Narrows not so long ago."

"I was a slob then."

"It was cute," she says with a smile. "I like all sides of you."

"What'll you have?" A waitress in a lemon yellow uniform with a white scalloped apron asks them. She smells vaguely of that stuff Edward has noticed people chew around here.

"Certainly not the crab," Edward snarks. It is overly abundant on the menu he holds in his hands.

"Why not?" The waitress asks defensively, putting a hand upon her ample hip. An expertly stenciled eyebrow rises above the bright blue eye shadow she has on her lid. "Beachview is known for its crab. It's a local delicacy."

"We didn't mean any offense," Lee says and pauses before saying quietly, "We don't care for crab for personal reasons."

Edward had told Lee about his dream. At least, the final part, waking up with a crab on his chest that had turned out to be Kristen when he woke. They would forever associate the two.

"Is there anything else this area is known for?" Lee asks.

The waitress rattles off about three other items. All from the sea - all from the bottom of it. They sound disgusting. Every single one of them.

After Lee places her order for one of the local delicacies, he asks, "Do you have anything that's _not_ from the sea?"

"I can get you a salad. With croutons," the waitress snaps and walks away from their table.

"What about the dressing . . . ?" Edward asks as she walks away, unhearing.

"It probably has shrimp in it." Lee smirks. "So your salad will probably arrive dry."

"Ugh. That's not what I wanted."

"Hey, I wasn't the one being nasty with the waitress."

"I wasn't -"

The next thing they know, their waitress has turned up the volume on the set in the restaurant. It gets everyone's attention.

"The Paradise Lost Duo has struck again. Earlier this morning, the bank in the Horseshoe Marina was hit by the couple known as The Riddler and The Doc, formerly villains from Gotham City."

A picture of them is splashed onto the screen. They are in a compromising position.

" _Horseshoe Marina? That's just a town away."_

" _Look at the two of them. How rude. Who has sex in public like that?"_

" _That's so close - they could come here next. Mommy, I'm scared."_

" _All you have to do is avert your eyes, dear."_

"Sorry about that picture folks, but we felt the need to let the public know exactly what they could be in store for should the Paradise Lost Duo hit their town. Theft, obscenity, unanswerable riddles. . ."

"Unanswerable?" Edward whispers as he takes off his glasses, puts them away, and sinks lower in the seat. "How moronic are these people?"

"Shush," Lee admonishes.

On screen, the announcer continues, "The picture we just showed is not from today's hit, folks. It was from a previous heist in Sleepyville. We just needed to show you what these two are truly capable of and that they didn't get as far today because the teller from the Horseshoe Marina was cooperative."

The screen cuts to an interview with the teller they had interacted with earlier that morning. Ed can't make her out since he's without his glasses, but he recognizes the voice. She's so proud of herself for not letting them get too far and for 'stopping the obscenity.'

"Sheesh," Lee whispers to Edward. "All they care about is the sex? Don't they care that we're robbing them blind?"

"Apparently not," he answers quietly. "But that could serve us well. The angle that the news is pushing is to cooperate with us lest they get exposed to 'something horrific.'"

She just shakes her head. "You're right. They _are_ morons."

A middle aged woman unceremoniously slips into their booth. She is almost as tall as Edward, with hair that is way too curly. And she is chewing on something gross. "You two having trouble fitting in?"

"Excuse me?" Lee says after she instinctively slides away from her.

"We got a different set of morals down here than in The Narrows, eh?"

To mention The Narrows is pretty specific - and to look the way they do and be associated with The Narrows is odd because most refugees from The Narrows likely wouldn't be dressed as fancy as they are. Only The Queen and her consort would be.

 _Damn._ The woman must recognize them. A twinge of fear races through his chest.

And he _loves_ it.


	13. Chapter 13

"Oh, don't worry," the woman says. "I have no intention of turning you two in. I'm a fan."

"A fan?" Lee asks as Edward puts his glasses back on. No point in trying to keep up the disguise - they've been caught.

"Especially of you, Riddler." Her eyes go soft with nostalgia as she says, "Your show at Cherry's was, um . . . how would you put it?"

"Fabulous," Edward answers and flashes her two okay signs.

"Yes," she says, her eyes bright. "That's one thing I really miss about Gotham. Oh, sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Jean. Saw your little 'show' out at the Horseshoe Marina this morning. Nice."

"Thank you," Edward says. "But we don't really want that broadcast."

"Oops! Sorry," she says in a conspiratorial whisper. "I'll keep it down."

Edward nods, but the smell from her mouth is starting to get to him. "If you don't mind me asking, what is that in your mouth? I've noticed several people around here chewing it."

"Something poisonous," Lee says, looking at the woman sternly.

"You gotta pick your poison, you know," Jean says with a chuckle. "This is mine."

"Is it worth it?" Lee asks.

"So far, I would say so."

What in the world were they talking about?

Jean continues. "I'd rather have five years of looking great than a lifetime of looking shabby."

Edward looks at Lee, brows furrowed.

She turns to him and explains. "Poopdeque increases one's metabolism. Ever heard of burning the candle at both ends?"

"Wait. Poop? As in literal shit?"

Jean chuckles while Lee just continues to explain what it is to Edward.

"It's made from the excrement of local deque crabs which can be further altered to form several toxins."

"Yeah, including one that makes you nice and thin," Jean says.

"But with a shelf-life of about five years once you start taking it," Lee counters.

"Worth it," the woman replies without hesitating.

"Why?" Edward asks. "Why would you want to shorten your life for nothing more than vanity?"

"Vanity, eh?" Jean says. "Let me ask you something? Do either of you remember me?"

Edward and Lee shake their heads.

"Add about 150 pounds to this frame. . .?"

"No, we don't. Sorry," Lee says.

"Exactly!" Jean answers and smacks her hand on the table. "Fat people are invisible. Even back in The Narrows, where everyone had a hardscrabble life and glamour didn't mean much."

"No . . ." Lee says and reaches out her hand to Jean.

"No?" she asks, and turns to Edward, ignoring Lee's hand. "At the very least YOU should recognize me, Riddler."

He looks at her carefully, taking in her tall, willowy frame, her slender fingers. He can't imagine this woman ever carrying any weight. She looks like she had been a beanstalk all her life, just like him. Even mentally adding about 150 pounds to her doesn't help him recognize her.

"I'm sorry. I don't remember you. There were a lot of people in The Narrows back then -"

"Megan was my niece."

"Was?" Edward feels a touch of dread. Megan had been one of the little girls he had regularly employed in his Penguin show. She would often play a menacing GCPD officer. "What happened to her?"

"What do you think?" Jean says and snaps the wad of poopdeque in her mouth.

 _Dead._ So many were dead. Better not to press. "That's too bad. I really enjoyed having her in my show."

As soon as the two of them start talking about Megan, Lee looks away uncomfortably, as if looking for a distraction.

"Megan had so much fun, too. She really admired you. Oh man, when Tracy and I - Tracy was her mom - would get home after a fight at Cherry's, it was always Mr. Riddler said this and Mr. Riddler said that. She admired you so much. Wanted to be a performer herself someday."

Edward just smiles sadly. "It was fun working with those Narrows kids. I miss it. They were such good sports."

"Well, actually . . ." Jean says carefully. "That's kinda why I tracked you down, Riddler, once I saw you two on the news."

"Oh?" Lee's head spins back as she re-joins the conversation.

"We could really use your help," Jean says carefully.

"With what?" she asks.

"Um, we. . ." Her hand comes up to her lips and she bites on a knuckle nervously. "Well, where I work, we were hoping to start a theater program."

What?

"For the kids, you know," Jean says. "To give them something fun, perhaps even a way to work out for themselves all that's happened. All the recent tragedy. So many of them are from Gotham."

"The kids?" Edward asks.

"Yeah. . . um." Jean seems nervous as her hands flit about her face. "Ever since Gotham fell, I've been working as a cook out at this orphanage on the Island."

"An orphanage?" Lee asks.

"On an island?" How apropos. Dump a bunch of abandoned kids on an island. Isolate them even further. Edward frowns.

"Yes, just off Jilt Beach. On Driftwood Island."

"Jilt Beach?" Lee practically snorts. "What a great place for a wedding. What do you think, Edward?"

"Sorry, Lee. I don't feel like being dumped just yet," he replies, joining in on the joke. "We'll just have to get married somewhere else."

"You two - ?" The woman asks, dumbfounded. "You're planning on tying the knot?"

"Well, no," Edward says, surprised by what Lee says next.

"Not yet."

Jean smiles.

Wait. _What?_ He looks at Lee, concerned.

"Later," she says to him before turning back to the woman sitting next to her. "So, Jean, tell us about this place."


	14. Chapter 14

"There is no ferry?" Edward asks, astounded, as he and Lee stand on a private dock awaiting a fishing vessel to come get them and take them out to the orphanage.

"Don't you see how small our Island is?" Jean asks, arms spread wide before the view of it out on the water, before turning around to point behind them. "And our mainland?"

Yeah. There's not much there. He can't believe they get all their provisions from a town as tiny as Jilt Beach. There's no way.

"Only the bigger islands have ferry service."

"Okay," Edward says and puts his hands in his pockets. It's a cold day at the beach. The sun isn't even down quite yet and the marine layer is already coming back in. He should have brought a jacket. Beside him, Lee shivers a little and rubs her arms. He pulls her in for a tight hug so they can both stay warm.

"Awww. . ." Jean says. "I always liked you two. So glad you're getting married."

"We're not -" Edward starts, but Lee puts her fingers on his lips to shush him.

"Let her have her fantasy," Lee says so quietly that Jean can't hear.

He groans.

"Don't be a grump."

* * *

As the fishing trawler churns its way through the sea towards the island, Edward starts to feel sick.

"Are you seasick?" Lee asks him.

No. It's something else.

"Sure," he answers.

"What does that mean?"

"I need to take a walk." He stands up with his staff - and 'paces' - or what passes for pacing - along the small deck of the boat. His mind is turning over and over just thinking about all the possible ways this could go wrong. An orphanage? What was he thinking, agreeing to this?

"Hey, are you okay?" Lee's hand on his back stops his pacing.

Jean joins them. "You know, we're not all morons here, down in The South."

"What?" Lee asks her.

"It's just I overheard you two, that's all."

"Oh, we were actually just talking about Milton," Edward replies.

"Really now? You think John Milton's an idiot?" Jean asks.

She knows Milton? That's a first. Only the news had seemed to pick up on the source of his riddles so far.

"That's not quite what I said."

"No, you didn't. Sounds like you said we were all morons, and The Doc here was agreeing with you."

"It's just, people don't seem very well read out here," Edward tries to explain. "No one gets my riddles, which I've been basing on Paradise Lost because it loosely fits the theme of all of us Gothamites coming down here and corrupting _you all_ now that the city has fallen."

"I see," Jean says. "Well, Gotham lives by a different moral code, that's for sure. But did it ever occur to you that your riddles might suck?"

"No," Ed says with complete confidence, yet her words harken back to a time when Oswald had basically said the same thing to him, so he still feels the sting.

Jean starts laughing. "No worries. You're probably right, Riddler. We aren't very well read out here. But we're not morons. Look around."

He sees the ocean, a light fog settling in, and Driftwood Island's dock quickly coming in to view. The owner of the boat, had assured them it would be a quick seven minute trip from shore once they pulled away from the dock. And apparently, he was right.

"Well, this is a bad day for us in The South - colder than most," Jean says. "But you noticed that it still has been sunny and clear for most of the day, right?"

"Yes."

"So, why would we read? It hardly ever rains here, except for piss rain and the marine layer settling on your skin - if you can even call that rain. We've got better things to do here in the sun. Swim, sail, fish, or just walk around and take in the beauty of the place. We're more active than most Gothamites. You need a nice dreary day to stay inside and read a book properly - and Gotham's got plenty of days like that, as both you well know."

* * *

Edward feels terribly sick as they get off the boat once it's tied up and he's on land again. But it's definitely not seasickness. His stomach tightens and instinctively he places a hand upon it.

This is really happening.

He hadn't been near an orphanage or anywhere near anything resembling where he had grown up since he'd left the place, not even the orphanage where Oswald's son Martin had been. He had known about it, but instinctively steered clear of it. That part of his life had been long over by then - and buried. But it isn't now. Bad memories boil to the surface. He hopes Lee can't read his emotions - this is going to be hard enough without having to make excuses to her.

He realizes that he's committed to too much, agreeing to meet the children and see the old theater they have on their grounds. Oh, and somehow Lee had committed to having him put on one play - just _one_ play - if he thinks he can work with what he sees. Can't forget that.

Ugh.


	15. Chapter 15

Edward's heart aches, it just absolutely aches, as they plod their way towards the orphanage from where they had landed. Even from a distance, he can see that it is a huge structure - school and dormitories in one - made of old-fashioned bricks, which give it a deep maroon color. The mortar that holds the bricks in place is cream colored, and that color is echoed in the cement flourishes that are unique to its architecture.

He's not sure he can handle seeing the children - the children who are just like him. Except, they aren't sick. This isn't a hospital ward. Yet still, they've been abandoned. Either by circumstances, or by their parents themselves.

The vestibule. Oh, fuck, the vestibule.

Suddenly, it swims before him, blocking out everything else in his vision. Its square walls pulse eerily.

 _His mother's impeccable victory rolls are red - startlingly red - and are only visible from the side. And then she turns and her hair bounces softly upon her back as she walks away and they disappear from view entirely. He cannot see her eyes. She hadn't let him._

 _He drops to his knees._

 _Left alone in that vestibule, he cries and reaches out into thin air . . . only to find nothing. He finally comes to the realization that no one will ever truly love him because. . . not even his own mother does._

 _And, the thought is frightening._

"Edward! Are you okay?" Lee asks worriedly, crouching down beside him.

The first thing he does is touch his face in panic and finds that his cheeks are dry. He hadn't been crying for real. Good.

"My . . . uh, leg just hurt," he says, noticing that his staff had fallen to his side on the ground beside him. "It gave out on me."

"Are you sure that's all it is?" she asks. She knows he's lying - he can tell. But this isn't the time or place. And, it's not like he'd tell her what just happened anyway.

"Yes," he says, giving her a look.

She helps him to stand.

"And there they are!" Jean says proudly. "Such little darlings."

A gaggle of girls in sweaters that almost, but not quite match the building, run out to greet them. Immediately they start peppering Edward with questions.

" _Are you going to be our new drama coach?"_

" _Are you famous? Cook Jean says you're famous."_

" _Who's that lady with you? Is she a doctor?"_

So many questions all at once.

"Why yes, I _am_ famous," Edward answers, giving his staff a dramatic little twirl, the question mark atop it briefly going round and round before their eyes.

"Oooh!"

"Have you ever heard of The Riddler?" he asks them.

" _No."_

" _No, have you?"_

" _Who is he?"_

"Well," Edward says, firmly planting his staff in the ground. "Who is one of Gotham's greatest supervillains?"

Lee snorts and crosses her arms.

"Who just loves entertainment with a little killin'?"

"I don't think you should -" Jean starts to say, but Edward ignores her.

"A master of wit, who inspires every fiddler?"

Edward pauses.

"Give up?"

The little girls nod.

"Why he's The Riddler!"

"And this . . . " Lee says with a dramatic pause before throwing out her arms to showcase him as if he's The Wheel of Misfortune. "Is HIM!"

Edward gives a little bow.

" _Nice."_

" _Cool."_

" _Awesome."_

"Uh, yeah. But he's not really a villain, kids," Jean says a bit nervously, tugging on a spiral of her hair. "Don't worry."

"Says who?" Lee challenges. They both know this woman knows the truth.

But Edward gets it, understands her caution. He winks at Jean and then turns back to the kids. "That's right folks, I'm not a supervillain, just an entertainer. Did you like the show?"

A round of yesses escape the girls and they bounce excitedly.

"Are you here to help us put on a play?" one of the girls asks - a shy one who hadn't spoken yet and ducked behind another as soon as she did.

"Perhaps," he says, not wanting to commit to anything just yet. "But Cook Jean needs to show me around the place first."

* * *

 _Author's Note: The 'Riddler' riddle is mine. :-)_


	16. Chapter 16

"So, where are the boys?" Edward asks as they head out to the deserted theater on the orphanage grounds. He had only seen girls so far.

"No boys," Jean says succinctly. "Girls only."

Hmmm. . . that might be easier. It makes this place seem less like the place he had been trapped in all those years ago.

And the theater isn't dilapidated at all. Yet, he'd been expecting it to be given how Jean had made it sound.

"Wait," he asks her once all three of them are at the foot of the stage. "When did your drama coach run off, again?"

Jean scratches her head and wipes at her nose. "Well, really right around the time things got bad in Gotham."

"Things are always bad in Gotham," Lee says. "You're gonna have to be more specific."

"Um . . . when it fell."

"What?" Edward asks, flabbergasted. "That's only been a few months. You made it sound like they haven't put on a play at this school in ages. That they need it to lift their spirits."

"Well, they _do_. Regardless of how long it's been. You don't understand. We've gotten so many girls in from Gotham - especially from The Narrows," Jean says, turning towards Lee as she says it.

"Really?"

"Yes, there was so much death and destruction. You know how bad it was there. But the children? They're survivors. So many of them made it even though their parents perished. So, I sneak back into The Narrows on the regular. Then I round 'em up and make sure they have a safe place here. And take the boys over to the orphanage at Seagrass."

Hmm. . . Edward was going to have a difficult time saying no now. He knew Lee - especially Lee, not Leslie, not The Doc - would want him to stay and help the kids. She was the one that held that good side he was so fond of - the caring one. He knows he can't let her down even though, as Oswald had pointed out, she had never sacrificed anything for _him_. Somehow it always seemed to be the other way around.

Edward shakes his head. His love for her made him do crazy things sometimes.

"Okay, I'm in," he says, even though he doesn't trust this Jean at all. Her cagey behavior has led him to believe there is much more going on here than just some little girls in need of having some fun. "What play shall we do?"

"Why, Paradise Lost, of course!" Jean says and smiles triumphantly.


	17. Chapter 17

And then they found out what Jean had been hiding. . .

She had invited Edward and Lee to the kitchen for a quick dinner before they were to head back to the mainland, offering to make a couple of quick, easy dishes just for them and they had agreed.

So, while Jean starts to assemble her ingredients, Lee pokes her head out of the kitchen, wanting to explore.

"Oh! Please stay here while I cook," Jean implores. "Keep me company."

"Edward can keep you company," Lee says logically. "I'd like to take a look around."

"You don't have to do th -" Jean starts, but Lee is already gone. Jean, worried, looks out the empty door frame where she had just been.

Edward knows that she had just lied to Lee about wanting to be kept company. Why doesn't Jean want her to check out the orphanage? Or him, for that matter? Ideally, she wants him to help with the kids' theater. That's why they are here. So, what's the big deal?

He frowns and steeples his fingers under his chin before he starts to ask Jean some pointed questions, which she attempts to dodge.

After a while, Edward is interrupted by the sound of a ragged cough out in the hallway. It goes on for quite awhile until it is seemingly snuffed out by exhaustion.

"What was that?" he asks Jean.

"Oh, one of the kids just has a bad cold."

Then he hears another cough - eerily similar - but it's definitely from a different source this time.

Edward looks at Jean seriously, over the rims of his glasses. "That wasn't just ONE kid."

"Uh . . ."

Suddenly, Lee is back. Except it's not Lee, it's The Doc - and she's pissed.

"How many Narrows kids are here?" she demands of Jean.

"I . . . uh . . . I don't know."

Lee holds out a bloody handkerchief. "What the hell is going on here?"

Jean wrings her hands, but can't speak. She only stutters.

"You set me up," The Doc practically yells and drops the handkerchief down on the counter. "I'd bet dollars to donuts you've got a tuberculosis epidemic raging here, don't you? You brought in a bunch of infected kids from The Narrows and put the other kids at risk because you didn't properly quarantine them and now you expect ME to clean up your mess, do I have that right?"

Jean hangs her head.

"Come on Edward, we're leaving."

"You'll need to procure a vessel -"

"Then call one for us," The Doc says, interrupting Jean. Then pointing at the counter, she continues, "And I suggest you disinfect that cloth thoroughly."

"How - ?"

Edward answers her. "Soak the cloth - and that counter - in bleach for a good fifteen hours."

Then The Doc stalks out of the kitchen, Edward in tow, shaking her head and muttering "unbelievable" under her breath.


	18. Chapter 18

"Edward. So, you finally called," Oswald says, faking nonchalance - and not well.

"Yeah, um, Lee and I are down in -"

"The South, raping and pillaging. Yeah, I saw the news."

"Not raping."

"Raping those poor people's minds!" Oswald argues. "Exposing them to grotesque sex acts -"

"Not exactly grotesque," Edward says. "That's just one reporter's point of view. The people down here are -"

"I don't care what they are. I just can't believe that I had to find out on the news how you and Lee are doing. You should have called me."

Oswald is fuming. In his mind, Edward can easily envision his scowl.

Sarcastically, Oswald says, "But apparently, your relationship with Lee is back on track."

"I don't know about that," Edward says lowly, remembering his mother and how she had left him, knowing that someday Lee will, too. She can't really -

"Oh, please, Edward." Oswald lets out an impatient sigh. "Not this again. Will you get over yourself? The two of you are fucking in _public_ while in the midst of robbing banks. You guys are FINE. I don't want to hear any more of it."

Oswald knows him too well. He had immediately caught on that Edward's insecurities had arisen yet once again.

"Okay, enough of that," Oswald says. "I need you back up here. Strange -"

"Can it wait?" Edward says. "I've been too busy to even gather supplies to practice the art of forgery. For one thing, they only take cash down here right now. And even though you generously sent us on our way with some, it took longer to bury Kristen than expected. . . _plus_ the price of everything has risen dramatically since the banks went down in Gotham. Things got very tight, very fast, so we had to make robbing local banks our priority. I'm afraid it's going to take me a while to be of any use to you, Oswald. I can come to Gotham then."

Oswald lets out another frustrated sigh.

Also, there's more to it than that. Edward is fairly certain that The Doc and Lee will want to stay and care for those kids at the orphanage, even though the former had been raging pissed when they left it behind. In fact, she's still fuming, sitting in a chair in the lobby of the inn they had chosen for the night, legs and arms crossed. Perhaps he can make it back to Gotham once that is all sorted.

"Fine," Oswald says. "That's just fine because what I really need is for you to you to do the remote interference of Strange's research that we discussed. By all reports it seems he's doing something odd, possibly dangerous, with Tabitha's baby. We need to stall that."

"Okay, Oswald, I'll look into it and get back to you."

"Thank you, friend," Oswald replies, then softening, he says, "And Edward?"

"Yes?"

"Please remember that you are loved."

Edward blinks and his throat constricts. Oswald always knows just what to say.

"Thank you," he whispers gruffly, solemnly.


	19. Chapter 19

He's noticed that she's switched again. Amazing just how quickly she does that.

"Good conversation with Oswald?" Lee asks as she nurses her wine. It's in a plastic cup - the inn didn't have anything fancier to go with the mini bar in their room. She had, of course, overheard everything. At least, his side of the conversation.

"It was fine," Edward says with a small sigh, joining her as he sits down on the bed. "But I've been lax in my duties. I need to help him take down Strange. For _all_ of us."

"You sure do." Lee nods in agreement. "You know, working with those kids on a theater production would have taken time away from that."

"Then why did you agree to go along with Jean's cockamamie idea in the first place?"

"I don't know. Maybe I thought you needed a good stroke to your ego?"

"Excuse me?"

"Come on Edward. From time to time I know you need recognition and praise." She sets her cup on the nightstand. "Actually, more than just time to time. It's why you crave attention - even if it gets us precariously close to getting caught and arrested from time to time."

"Maybe I just like getting caught." Not exactly true.

"Oh, so you can weasel your way out of it?" she asks.

Okay, he'll run with that theory. "Yeah. Look, Lee, the more I build my reputation as a villain, the more people will fear me."

She snorts.

"What?" Why does she find that outrageous?

" _Fear_ you?"

"I'm obviously not doing a good enough job," he growls. "Perhaps next time we won't use the tranq's."

"Edward," she cups a hand to his face. "Why is that so important to you?"

"If people are afraid of me, they won't dare mess with us."

"No one's messing with -"

"Strange did quite a nice job messing with _me_ , thank you very much," Edward interrupts, bumping into her forehead and touching his nose with hers. In a voice soft with gravel he says, "And you. And our baby. And that's _never_ happening again."

Lee leans in to kiss him.

And as she breaks from their kiss, she whispers, "You're right. I wouldn't want that."

* * *

In the middle of the night Edward is awakened by Lee's chuckling - no cackling.

"What the hell is so funny?" he asks, turning over in bed to tickle her, making it worse, making it so that she can't talk at first.

Once she breaks free of him she says, "Fifteen hours?"

"What?"

"FIFTEEN HOURS? A twenty minute boil would have sufficed."

He's still a bit groggy - it takes him a second. "Wait. Are you talking about that bloody TB-ridden rag you threw on the kitchen counter?"

He shivers at the thought.

"Yes." The cackling is back.

"What? What's funny about that?" Edward asks, "According to a study done on AFB sputum smears, 6.4% still have Mycobacterium tuberculosis colonies after treatment with 5% bleach for up to three hours, but none after fifteen hours. You need a full _FIFTEEN HOURS_ to effectively disinfect those smears."

"Okay, but that orphanage is not a lab. You do realize that tuberculosis spreads through airborne particles, right?"

"Yes."

"So that fifteen hour bleach protocol is completely unnecessary. What are the chances that anything from that cloth is going to get aerosolized and spew infectious TB particles into the air?" she asks him pointedly. "Boil it and be done with it, I say."

"Then why didn't you correct me?" Edward asks as creases form on his brow. He doesn't like to be wrong, but he likes getting his facts straight even more. And Lee always seems to know a few things he doesn't. . . he respects that.

Her cackling resumes full force. He just watches her as she sits up and grabs her belly and laughs hard for a while.

When she can finally catch her breath, she says, "I didn't correct you because I can just imagine Jean going around and soaking everything she can find that she thinks is infected for fifteen hours. What an incredible waste of time."

"Bitch deserves it for trying to dupe us," Edward says.

"Yeah, and I'm happy to see her suffer." Lee starts laughing again as Edward presses her back down to the bed and starts to tickle her again.

"So happy. . ." she says through her giggles.


	20. Chapter 20

"You know what?" Lee says, sitting bolt upright in bed the next morning.

Edward groans and rolls over, burying his face in his pillow to block out the morning light. "What?"

"I need to help those kids."

Lee gets out of bed and goes over to the window, drawing the shade open to look out at the sea. It's another fairly cold day for The South, but the marine layer is receding. Edward gets out of bed and comes up behind her, wrapping his arms about her waist and kissing her ear.

"I knew you'd say that," he says in a rough whisper as he holds her even tighter.

A seagull caws loud enough in the distance to be heard through the glass of the windowpane.

"I can't believe Jean . . ."

"I know."

"She didn't need to deceive us like that."

Edward starts kissing a line down from the base of her earlobe to her collarbone.

"You'll help those kids with their production of _Paradise Lost_?"

"Sure." When I'm not working for Oswald.

"And can you run some tests on those kids so we know exactly what we're dealing with?"

At that, he pulls away and sighs. Lee's obviously not in a cuddly mood - she's all business.

"We'll have to steal some test kits, find a lab -" he starts.

"I'm sure the school will have at least one science classroom you can use. And we should start with TB test kits. Those AFB smears you mentioned."

"And where am I to procure a fluorescence microscope to evaluate them?"

"I'm sure you'll figure something out."

And he does - in less than a second. He snaps his fingers. "Yes! I'll MAKE one."

"Always doing things the hard way." Lee shakes her head at him. "Why don't we just steal one?"

"Nah," Edward says. "Assembling one myself out of a student microscope and whatever else I can get my hands on should prove to be a nice challenge! A puzzle of glass and light."

"Okay, smarty-pants," Lee says. "So, do we start by letting Jean know we're in, or do we start by robbing biotech and pharmaceutical companies?"

"Flip for it?" he asks, pulling out a coin.

"You," she says lovingly.

" _Me,_ " he answers with a grin.


	21. Chapter 21

On the long drive back to Gotham, Edward thinks. About _everything._

* * *

 _He had been on his way to the clinic that Lee had set up at the orphanage when he spied a tiny girl in the hallway, waiting outside its door. The cuts and bruises on her body had caught his attention. They looked fresh - and they didn't look accidental._

 _He walks over to her and crouches down to her level. "Hey there, I'm a friend of Doc Thompkins. Can you tell me what happened to you?"_

" _Mean people."_

 _He goes cold to the bone as his own history rushes back to him. "Can you tell me about these mean people?"_

 _She shakes her head from side to side._

" _Edwardine?" Lee's head pops out into the hallway, calling in her next patient. The little girl leaves his side to join her._

 **Edwardine?**

 _He watches as Lee greets her, bends over, and places a comforting hand on her back. He notices that their hair looks exactly the same. Lee could practically be her mother. The little girl looks back at him and pushes her glasses up her nose and sniffles a little before following her in._

* * *

" _Who was that little girl?" Edward asks Lee once the workday is over, hoping she hadn't switched to The Doc just yet as she was prone to do at the end of the day - those two had an arrangement - but the way the conversation ends up going, he can't tell which one he's talking to._

" _Which girl?"_

" _Edwardine."_

 _She laughs and shakes her head. "I can't believe someone actually named their child that."_

" _Hey!"_

" _Sorry. What did you want to know about her?"_

" _Who beat her up today?"_

" _She refuses to say, but the teachers tell me she's picked on pretty severely by her peers. I suspect it was one of them."_

" _Then it would be someone she has to live with day in and day out. She has no escape . . ."_

" _Such is life at the orphanage," she answers nonchalantly._

 _His hackles go up._

" _Hey, what's wrong?"_

" _That's a terrible attitude."_

" _Edward, it's beyond my expertise to fix," she says firmly. "I'm a doctor and I'm doing what I can for these kids, here at the clinic. If I can get them to tell me who's been hurting them, I always let the headmaster know. But it's an uphill battle."_

" _Well, it's not enough," he grumbles._

" _What?" She hadn't heard him._

 _He stands up and walks out._

* * *

 _Later, Edward finds Edwardine's dormitory and makes some pretense with the house mother about Lee needing to see her back at the clinic even though it is late._

 _Better make good on what he'd said. He walks her all the way back to the clinic and sits her down in on a bench in the empty hallway outside of Lee's office, taking a seat beside her._

 _Lee had probably made the switch to The Doc already, as she's nowhere to be found. Frankly, The Doc isn't much of a doctor. At heart, she's always been more of a politician – or a freedom fighter. But she does cares about the health and well-being of these children - she just lets Lee handle it most of the time._

" _Edwardine, sweetheart, the clinic is deserted right now so no one's going to overhear us. You're safe here."_ _Edward wishes someone had cared enough about his well-being when he was younger to actually ask him about it._ " _I know someone's hurting you and I want to help. Can you tell me what's going on?"_

 _The girl bows her head and her ears poke up through her black hair as she does so. Then she starts crying. "It's everyone."_

" _Everyone?"_

" _I can't tell you who's hurting me because everyone is!" Her chin quivers as tears continue to run down her cheeks. "Because I've got glasses, Dumbo ears, and a stupid name!"_

" _Hey, now!" he protests. "Those people are morons. You don't deserve to be picked on for such silly things. You know that, right?"_

 _She looks doubtful._

" _Look, I've got glasses." He reaches up to the frame of the pair he's wearing and taps them with his index finger._

 _Edwardine just stares at him_

" _And my ears are kinda big too."_

 _Somehow he manages to make them wiggle._

" _And you know what?" Edward continues. "I resent what you just said about your name."_

 _She looks really confused and stops crying for a moment. "What?"_

" _I've got the same name."_

" _Edwardine?"_

" _The boy equivalent. Edward. And you know what?"_

" _What?"_

" _If I had a daughter, I would proudly name her Edwardine."_

Or Kristen.

But I already did that. And I lost her . . .

" _Really?"_

" _Yes. It's a beautiful name and you should take pride in it!"_

" _But, Mr. Edward . . ." She hiccups, holding back another sob before whining, ". . . it sounds like a boy name! That's why they make fun of me."_

 _He thinks for a bit before he says, "Then change it."_

" _I can do that?"_

" _Yes. I have gone by Ed, Edward, Eddie . . . among other things." No need to tell her he's gone by The Riddler, too. The entire orphanage knows that already. "Just pick something."_

 _A smile breaks out on her face. It is delightful to see. "Well . . . I_ _ **do**_ _like the last part of my name."_

" _Dine?"_

 _She nods. "I've always wanted people to call me Dini."_

" _Then Dini it is!" he says enthusiastically, punctuating it with an okay sign._

* * *

Edward thinks back to how he had made that little girl so happy in that very moment, but he knows that it won't last. Her torment will continue at the hands of her peers, as it did for him.

Edward makes a vow to find out which kids have been hurting her and to stop them once he returns from Gotham.


	22. Chapter 22

During the drive back to Gotham, Edward finds himself reminiscing about all the things that he and Lee had accomplished at the orphanage during their short time there.

First and foremost, they had set up a quarantine. He had planned it out himself after inspecting the dormitory's ventilation system, layout of the rooms, and the like. He had also run a bunch of AFB sputum smears that Lee had collected from all the kids she suspected of having TB using a fluorescence microscope that he had jury-rigged in less than a day from materials found at the orphanage - he was quite proud of that. And as it turned out, Lee had been right - the kids were indeed infected with tuberculosis. Their initial precautions had been worth the effort.

Edward smiles to himself as he thinks about Lee as she cared for all these children. He hadn't seen her come to life like this in a good long while, not since she had been elevated to Queen of The Narrows. She was truly in her element. He thinks of what he had read in Strange's notebook, too - how he had gotten his resurrected test subjects to merge into just one personality after having been split. They had all been given a _story_.

Perhaps working as a healer could be Lee's story - perhaps she would find herself merging back into one as she treated these kids. He knows that she desperately desires it - having three conscious minds in her head at all times has been quite a strain on her. He can relate, but not fully understand, because he usually only had one - and occasionally two - at the front of his consciousness at all times until Little Eddie had broken off. And that had been unbearable enough.

But the best part of all of this is that they are finally a solid team again. He hadn't just helped her in her efforts, she had helped him in his as he prepared the theater for their production of _Paradise Lost_. He had wanted certain things in place before even running auditions from the pool of healthy kids and he valued Lee's - and The Doc's - advice and help in these matters.

The Doc. . . Mmmm.

He distinctly remembers their last bank heist.

 _Her legs are wrapped about his waist as he runs his hand between her breasts, her shirt having been ripped open for all to see as they start to couple on top of the deposit slip counter, unintentionally scattering small slips of paper everywhere in their delicious debauchery._

 _The crowd gasps in shock as he penetrates her._

 _And once he's deep inside of her, fucking her_ hard _, her eyes close tightly and she begins to moan. Loudly. This only serves to drive him to new heights and he just needs MORE_ _of her. Entangling her hair in his fist, he pulls her up to him for a rough kiss. . ._

 _The bank's alarms start going off._

 _Out of the corner of his eye, Edward notices one of the security guards stagger to his feet. Poor sucker must be on poopdeque - his metabolism had obviously outpaced their tranqs._

" _Doc," Edward says and jerks his head towards the man, who has now raised his gun at them._

" _Shit," The Doc says, and raises hers._

" _STOP!"_

 _As the guard charges the deposit slip counter, she pulls the trigger._

* * *

"' _Darkness, once gazed upon, can never be lost,'" Edward quotes Milton solemnly._

" _Pretty much," The Doc says matter-of-factly as they sit in their car, staring out at the churning sea from their perch at Jilt Beach, awaiting a fishing vessel to come and take them back to Driftwood Island and the orphanage. A stash of money is cleverly hidden away inside the paneling of its trunk, waiting to be used another day._

" _Are you okay?" he asks. "I know this wasn't what you wanted."_

" _What? To kill a guy because I want to PAY for medication to treat these kids instead of stealing it? So the drug companies can afford to make more of what we take?"_

" _Doc -" he reaches out a hand to her shoulder._

 _She jerks away. "I'm fine."_

 _She's_ not _._

" _Look," she says, meeting his eyes directly. "I prefer not to kill unless it's necessary, but I accept this part of me. The one who can. Even Lee does."_

 _She pauses for a moment and looks back out at the water._

" _You're right, Edward," she says with a sigh. "This darkness can never be lost."_

 _He takes her hand gently and squeezes it. They stare out at the sea together._

 _After awhile she asks him, "Was it ever difficult for you? Taking a life?"_

" _Once," he says, thinking of Kristen Kringle._

 _Then, thinking of Oswald, he corrects himself._

" _Perhaps twice." She looks over at him and he chuckles as he says, "But that guy didn't stay dead for very long."_

No, he had not. Oswald was alive and well. Flourishing, in fact.

Edward pulls up to the drive in front of the carriage house at Oswald's estate - the Van Dahl Estate. It feels like coming home.


	23. Chapter 23

Edward notices another man leaving as he arrives at the Van Dahl Estate - one he's never seen before.

The man is tall and well built, with broad shoulders, a bronze complexion, and long black hair. He is smiling to himself and looking down, almost like a shy, but happy bride on her wedding night. He's so distracted by his own thoughts that he doesn't even notice Edward standing there, evaluating him. And he's dressed quite oddly.

Puzzling . . .

Edward is greeted by Oswald himself when he gets to the door - pulled in by an enthusiastic hug, actually. Oh, how he's missed his best friend.

"How are you?" Oswald asks sympathetically, leaving a hand on Edward's forearm after they'd broken from their hug. "I know burying Baby Kristen must have been rough, and I'm sorry I was so harsh with you the last time we spoke."

"Don't worry, Oswald. It wasn't easy, but I'm fine for now."

Edward finds himself distracted by his thoughts, wondering who that man was that he had encountered in the driveway. He needs to know.

"Oswald, who was -"

"Oh, that was William," Oswald says with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Come, let's discuss business in my office."

Oswald closes the front door, and as they walk into the house and down the hallway to his office, Edward asks, "William?"

"Yes. He's yet another crime lord that has risen to power since Gotham fell - it's gotten quite crowded with villains here recently. Anyway, William was here to negotiate the terms of a peace treaty with me. We might even join forces." Oswald smiles widely.

Edward's brows knit together as he asks his next question. "Why is he dressed - ?"

"Like a Pharaoh?" Oswald laughs.

"Yes."

"Well, he was the highly esteemed Director of Anthropology, Antiquities, and Ancient Egyptian studies at the university. Smart Man. But when Gotham fell, he went a little crazy and thinks he's an Ancient Egyptian now."

Oswald follows this up by spinning his finger near his ear and Edward almost expects him to say "cuckoo" as well. He stiffens, and ceases walking.

Oswald stops as well and puts a calming hand on his forearm. They are at the door of his study. "Edward. There's nothing wrong with being insane. You know I kind of like it."

Edward lets out a breath.

"Shall we?" Oswald asks.

"Yes," Edward answers and follows him in.

* * *

"Okay, let's get the smallest of matter out of the way first," Oswald says. " Here they are."

He hands over many documents to Edward, some as old as the city itself, many on parchment and vellum - some rumored to be actual human skin. Edward grins - he can't wait to get these back to his lab at the orphanage where he can analyze them. One of the science teachers had left the orphanage soon after the fall of Gotham and upon his arrival, Edward had quickly appropriated the classroom's laboratory for himself - it was where he had run tests for Lee, among other things.

"Thank you," Edward says, taking the stack of official city documents gently from Oswald's hands. "There's so much to work with here - so many samples to practice with."

"Samples just like the documents I will need to you to make changes to on your next trip here," Oswald says with a firm nod.

Edward grins. "I can't wait!"

"Good," Oswald replies. "You already seem to have distilled electronic forgery down to a science."

"Yes," Edward says, smugly. "One thing you need to know backwards and forwards is the history of the various fonts and when and where they have been used. Serif, sans-serif, script -"

Oswald waves his hand for him to stop. "I get it. We'll leave those details to you. All that matters is that you've delayed Strange's research."

"Yes," Edward says. "Altering his data has been so easy. Can you believe his personal encryption access code is 'thomaswayne'? No caps, no numbers, no symbols. When it comes to practical matters, Professor Strange is a simpleton. No wonder his life revolves around his research."

"Building creatures," Oswald reminds him. "Like your daughter."

"Unfortunately, yes," Edward sighs. "And on that note, I finally found where they're keeping Tabitha's son. It's time to make our first move, I would say."

He slides an image across the desk to Oswald.

"Oh my God!" Oswald gasps. "He's gotten so big."

Edward nods calmly.

Oswald says in wonder, "Not even a year old and he looks like he's in grade school."

"Well, most kids that age aren't sporting four arms."

"Or hair this long," Oswald counters.

"Kristen's was long," Edward reminds him - not that Oswald would have known. "We had to put hers up in a bun, too."

"What is Strange going to do with this kid?" Oswald asks. "There's been mutterings, rumors, but nothing concrete."

"I think we need to see this kid for ourselves. Current laboratory records refer to him as Shiva - no longer Galazean like they did when he was being grown up in that tank beside my daughter. Shiva is yet another Hindu god of destruction, among other things - just like the goddess Kali, who Strange used as inspiration for Kristen's mutations."

"Edward, you know that accessing Strange's facility is part of our long-term plan. There's no need to rush in just yet -"

"I need to get into Strange's lab. **NOW** _._ It may change location again, and if I'm to truly disrupt his research - his creation of these monsters - and not just slow it down, then I need access. To _everything._ Plus, I need more information to plan my own revenge - and I need it well in advance."

"Okay, okay," Oswald acquiesces "But take muscle."


	24. Chapter 24

Edward's been surveilling the Sirens club for a couple of days now from a great distance. Those man-haters kill anyone packing a dick and testicles on sight and ask questions later. He's had to be extremely careful. Oswald had suggested he go in drag, but no, that's too risky even for him.

And now, he's standing out in the rain, his features hidden, far enough from the domain of the Sirens not to get killed and awaiting his chance. Good thing Tabby possesses a streak of independence and doesn't always travel in a pack. She's so fierce she doesn't really need to, anyway. And today, it's his lucky day. She's come this way alone.

Edward rolls a small metal cylinder across her path and watches as she's engulfed in a grey blue smoke that blends in well with the dreary gray day.

He nods towards the two men that had been hiding in shadows behind him and they nod back, ready to drag her body out of sight.

* * *

Edward sits patiently in a folding chair in a damp warehouse, waiting for Tabby to wake up. He's got her tied to a pole and disarmed her of her whip. He hopes it's enough to restrain her until she listens to what he has to say.

It should be - he's bound her tighter than he did the day he chopped off her hand and tortured her lover in front of her. Her true feelings for Butch had been revealed during that little session, even though that had not been his intention. It turned out to be useful information for Oswald, though. He had used it to exact revenge on her . . . with a threat to continue.

The knots had not been the easiest to make. Easy would have been to bind her hands in the back. But no, Edward wanted them to be bound in a specific way - in her lap and facing up - so that when she was ready, he could show her why she was here.

* * *

And into her hands it goes. . .

Tabby gasps as Edward sits back down in the chair.

"Do you understand why we might want to become allies now . . . ?" he asks, watching her study the image.

Her finger strokes the tiny crescent moon that adorns the binding of the young boy's top knot. Long dark, hair flows down the back of it. Quite long - just as Kristen's had been.

"Cyrus," she whispers.

 _Idiot._ Edward scowls.

"Tabby, that's the moon, not the sun. Cyrus is -"

"A boy's name that means 'sun' in Persian and about a half a dozen other cultures," she interrupts him. "Yes, I know."

"How did you - ?"

"It's what he wanted to name his son." Tabby's chin quivers. "Butch told me all about its meaning and how he liked that 'son' and 'sun' sounded the same. Did you really expect me not to recognize my own cub, Nygma?"

Okay, so she's not an idiot. And Oswald had been right - The Tigress does have a vulnerable heart buried beneath all that gristle and steel.

"Actually, since Strange has made him into this four-armed monster -"

"Watch what you call my son, Nygma!" Tabby snaps.

He holds up a hand. "My daughter had four arms, too. And I'm rather ticked off about it."

"What?"

"I told you we had something in common, Tabby." Edward leans forward and jabs his index finger at the picture that Tabby still holds in her hands. "Hugo Strange did the same thing to my daughter, Kristen, after stealing her embryo out of Lee's body. In Cyrus' case, he stole your DNA. Both of yours. Without consent. From _any_ of us. And then, that deranged scientist applied gross and brutal mutations to my daughter's body - just as he did to your son - and then he stuck her in a TANK so that she would develop into the monster he had envisioned."

"What happened to her?" Tabby asks him.

Now it's Edward's turn to show his heart - he doesn't mean to, but it happens anyway. He doesn't betray himself with words, yet his chin quivers just like hers had, giving him away despite his recalcitrance. He looks down waiting for it to pass, blinking away moisture. It's still all too fresh.

Tabby doesn't need his words to understand. Kristen is gone, and her son Cyrus is in danger of suffering the same fate. Her eyes narrow with determination as she says, "I'm in, Nygma. Tell me where we can find this motherfucker so I can take him out."


	25. Chapter 25

As Edward and Tabby make their way down the eerily quiet hallway of the facility, they hear faint, deep breathing. It's the first sign of life they've encountered so far, and it should be Cyrus, if Edward's information is correct.

They find him sitting cross-legged on his bed, a snake around his neck. Silent. Alone. And . . . in an unguarded room with an open door.

Edward finds that quite odd.

Tabby crouches down to his level. "Cyrus? Baby?"

Edward's heart lurches when he hears her say 'baby.' It's what both he and Lee had called Kristen from time to time. Especially when she had been floating in that tank.

The boy calmly takes the snake off of his neck and places it on the bed, touching its head gently, soothingly. "That's a good boy. Sleepytime now."

The snake coils up . . . and appears to go to sleep.

"They call me Shiva," the boy says. "And this is Vasuki, King of the Serpents. Did you know that all his subjects are gold?"

"Oh Cyrus, baby." Tabby sighs as she lifts a hand to his top knot. "Have they ever even bothered to wash your hair?"

Edward finally notices what Tabby had seen right away, now that they are up close. The boy's hair is nothing but mats partially coiled up into a bun. It's probably never been washed. It doesn't help that the dark skin of his bare chest is covered in ash, partially obscuring it. He looks so ragged - yet vibrant at the same time - especially his two open eyes. The dichotomy is unsettling.

It's difficult for Edward to look upon a child so much like his own. Long black hair, four arms, and a slit above his eye. A third eye. Unopened just like hers had been. Would Kristen have grown to this size already if she had lived these past few months?

One good thing about the ashes on his chest, though - they mask the scars. Edward doesn't want to have to explain to Tabby what all the incisions littering his torso _really_ mean. At all hits too close to home. The boy isn't going to live long.

But she notices them anyway, touches them. "What happened here?"

"These?" the boy asks pointing to a few, happy to answer. "Oh, these are left behind when they remove the lumps."

"Lumps?" Tabby asks, confused.

A lump instantly forms in Edward's throat as he thinks about how this could have been Kristen's exact fate. It's constricting.

"Who _ARE_ you?" the little boy asks the leather-clad woman crouching before him. "You look like a big cat, a tiger, but you're human. I can tell. What's your story?"

"There is no story, baby," Tabby answers him quietly. "I'm your mother."

"I have a **mother**?" the boy exclaims, his eyes wide for just a second before he leaps into her arms, all four of his clenching tightly about her. Like a crab. The boy starts to cry tears of joy . . .

But Edward's aren't.

 _Not as his father holds him one last time and whispers to him quietly. "You've gotta let go, bud. Of her. Of me."_

 _Edward sniffles and just holds onto his dad even tighter as he sees the final swish of his mother's skirt as it gets caught in the closing door of the vestibule. He squeezes his eyes shut against the image._

" _What if I don't want to?" he whispers back to his father, who pulls away from him just enough to look into his eyes._

 _He gives his son a little shake and says quietly, "It will be easier if you do."_

But he can't let go of Kristen. He thought he could, but no. And he won't likely ever be able to - he can no longer split off the part of himself that remembers her. Watching the scene before him, Edward desperately wishes his little girl's arms were around him once more - just like all four of Cyrus' are clinging to his mother.

Edward starts to feel faint and knows he's got to get out of there. Gruffly, he says, "I gotta go - do . . . that stuff I told you about."

Tabby barely gives him a passing glance and a nod before turning back to her son, not even noticing the few tears that have escaped Edward's eyes.

"Now, your father was named Butch. He was a big, strong man. . . Just like you're going to be. I can tell."

Edward knows that Cyrus is not going to reach manhood, but he doesn't correct her - he just leaves.


	26. Chapter 26

As he makes his way to the facility's central offices, Edward confiscates all of the notebooks that are lying around at all the empty laboratory benches that he passes - the ones that are filled with the freshest data - data that hasn't been shared yet. Oh, but he plans to get ahold of all of that shared data as well because before, he had only been able to access some of it remotely.

His journey has been quite easy thus far since many of the techs are on their dinner breaks or have ended their shift and already gone home. So many vacant labs, so many unmanned benches. Just the physical confiscation of these laboratory notebooks should set Professor Strange back quite a bit the way he's been conducting his research. He'll have to start from scratch on many of these projects. That's the hope, anyway. Edward assumes the techs are expected to input their data regularly, but how many of them actually do? Especially if they feel unimportant or underappreciated.

That works out for him though - the lazier the tech, the more data will be lost. Forever. There is no back up. He grins widely at the thought.

Finally, he spies the main data processing area. There are six people in it - none of them Hugo Strange.

Edward rolls another grey cylinder into the room and dons a gas mask, following it in. He quickly draws the blinds and shuts the door as the gas engulfs everyone, rendering them unconscious within seconds.

He peels one of them away from a chair in front of a terminal and begins digging for the information he desperately needs . . .

When Edward has finished retrieving what he came for, he knows it's time to retrieve Tabby, too. Separating a mother from her cub is never easy, but he has come prepared. He signals to the men waiting in the shadows to don their gas masks. Then he enters Cyrus' room.

Somehow, the boy had fashioned a trident out of what could only be found materials - two knives and a pole with a sharp point at one end. Why would Strange allow the boy access to such things?

Tabby is sparring with him - teaching her boy the finer art of defense - and offense. A whip against a trident. She disarms him every time, but remains encouraging.

Before Edward's very eyes, the boy makes improvements each time. It's astounding.

"He's a bright one, Nygma," Tabby says. "A quick learner."

Edward nods, but can't help but to think that his daughter had been even brighter. There was no contest.

Suddenly, alarms begin to go off. It is time.

"Okay baby, time to go," Tabby says and begins to lead her son out.

Edward nods at the two men in hiding once Tabby is close enough to them and they roll out a gray cylinder. Edward is behind her, so she doesn't see him don his gas mask. But Cyrus glances over his shoulder and does.

Not good.

Within seconds, Tabby drops to the ground, unconscious. But astonishingly, her son does not. The gas Edward had chosen to use was absolutely ineffective on him.

As the men come out of hiding to drag Tabby away, Cyrus starts screaming, yowling really - louder than the sirens.

It's perturbing.

Edward quickly finds shelter where the two men had just been hiding when he sees Cyrus's third eye open forebodingly. No one is ready for what happens next.

Fire shoots out of it, aimed directly at one of the men carrying his mother away.

And he . .. melts.

Like a white sticky plastic. No blood, no organs, no color, just ick.

Edward shivers.

Then, without warning, the boy shoots a second beam at the other man, who has scurried away faster than Edward had thought possible. The beam lands on the paneling of the door the man had just shut behind himself and a searing hole is burnt into it.

Cyrus crouches down on the floor, patting his mother's cheek. "Mom! Mommy! Wake up. Please, wake up. Soon, it's going to be too late."

What does that mean?

"I did good, Mommy. I purged Gotham of yet one more who was unworthy. Soon Mr. Valeska will have a completely blank slate from which to rebuild. Aren't you proud of me?"

He shakes her, but she gives no response.

Wait.Jeremiah?If this kid is working for Jeremiah, then that means that Hugo Strange is in bed with him. Mystery solved. The 'good professor' is building his mutant army forhim. He needs to tell Oswald right away.

But then it happens.

Cyrus dies.

His third eye cracks open and he tilts his head back towards the ceiling. A tiny flame flickers within it. But as soon as it burns out, the boy turns pure white and begins to lose his shape.

Within just a few horrifying seconds, a pile of goo remains where his body had just been.

Edward tries to hold back the vomit, visualizing the same fate befalling his little girl. Vividly. Because it probably would have. Kristen had possessed a third eye, too. Strange had built that specific mutation into Cyrus, just like he had done to her. Edward now knows that it was meant to be used as a weapon. A single use weapon apparently. Appalling.

He needs to get himself and Tabby out of there quickly, so he swiftly tracks down the one man that had come with him that was still alive and the two of them drag her out, her whip turning white in parts as it trails over the remains of her son.


	27. Chapter 27

He can still vividly see her black glove running down the length of her whip, wiping off the mysterious substance that clings to it after she comes to. Somehow, she knows . . . even though she hadn't seen it happen.

"Is this Cyrus? My child?"

Tabby takes off her gloves and tries to hold as much of that goo in the flesh of her palms as she can. She looks like she's trying to coalesce him back into being with the sheer will of her mind.

"Complication?" Oswald asks Edward.

He shakes his head, coming back to the present. "Yes. I ran into a bit of a complication."

"Well," Oswald says impatiently. "Spit it out!"

"The boy is dead."

"What?!?" Oswald screeches. His voice reverberates throughout his house.

Tabby rushes him, screaming, "My boy is DEAD!"

As she tackles him to the ground, her spittle of rage assaults his face. He puts his hands up in defense. "Not by my hand."

"I'M GOING TO KILL YOU, NYGMA!"

"Tabby, listen to me. I didn't kill your boy."

She starts to choke him, unbelieving, but he manages to get out the words, "Don't you want to know what happened to him?" before she completely crushes his larynx.

"Well, it doesn't affectmyplan, only yours," Edward says reasonably. "You'll have to come up with another one. I'll be proceeding with mine."

"Edward, what are you talking about? Your plan IS my plan," Oswald practically stammers.

"Not exactly," Edward says. "Even though it would make things easier, my plan doesn'trequireTabby's participation. Yours does."

"And how are we to get that now?"

"Tell me what happened, Nygma. And don't lie. Iknowyou and Penguin must have been up to something all this time."

"Oswald?" Edward asks, sitting up. It is cold and dank in the alleyway where she had returned to consciousness and throttled him. "He kept me in a block of ice for five months. Why would I be working with him?"

"There's been talk."

"Talk?" Edward practically sneers. "And didn't you also hear 'talk' that I was dead? 'Rumors' that that bitch, Leslie Thompkins had killed me?"

"Wait. I thought you two were -"

"You thought wrong, little Tabby cat," Edward says condescendingly. "We're not together anymore. She's dead and I am well . . . very much alive."

He lets an evil gleam settle in his eyes as he grins at her, saying nothing, leaving her to imagine the worst.

"The mother of your child? How could you?" Tabby says with disgust. Then she shivers and shakes her head. "You're a stone cold son-of-a-bitch, Nygma."

"Not that cold," he says, letting sadness grace his face once again as his features droop. This time his expression is real. "I did love my daughter."

"What exactly happened to her?"

"As I told you, Strange performed similar mutations to her as he did to Cyrus in an attempt to make his own personal Kali and Shiva."

"That's not what I meant. How did she die?"

"In my arms," he answers, looking down.

"I wasn't even awake when Cyrus passed," Tabby says forlornly. "That bastard."

He knows she means Strange . . . that she has no idea thathewas the reason that she had been unconscious.

"I'm gonna kill him," she says fiercely.

"It was a blessing," Edward tells her.

"What do you mean?"

"Remember Cyrus' scars?"

"Yes."

"Tumors. The lumps he mentioned were cancerous tumors."

"How do you know that?"

"My baby - my Kristen - she developed one of those overnight right before she died." He spreads his hands. "She was only this big."

"How old was she?"

"Probably weeks old - maybe a month or more - I can't be certain. But she was the size of a one year old. And your boy is less than a year old. FAR less. And you saw how big he was."

Tabby nods.

"Professor Strange had to perform massive mutations on chromosome 11 to stimulate that kind of growth. And those mutations came with a price."

"Cancer," she whispers.

"Yes," Edward says. "Neither of our children were created to live very long."

He lets himself shed a small tear. A very real one.

Seeing him, Tabby utterly deflates and looks down at her hands, letting herself cry too.

"I miss Butch so much. Sometimes it's unbearable," she says. "I can't believe we had a child . . . my very last piece of him . . . and that we only had an hour together before he -"

"I need to make Strange pay for what he did," Edward interrupts, his voice all gravel.

"Me, too," Tabby agrees. "Me, too."

"Partners?" He asks, putting out his hand for a shake.

"Definitely," Tabby answers, and takes it.


	28. Chapter 28

"I don't think getting Tabby's cooperation will be difficult," Edward says matter-of-factly. "She trusts me."

"Trusts you?" Oswald exclaims, disbelievingly. "Are you telling me that after her mutant son died at Strange's facility while you were there - conscious - that somehow Tabitha TRUSTS you now?"

"I'm a good actor." Edward shrugs. "But Oswald, you still need a plan B. One that meshes with my plan. The boy is gone. You'll need to start over."

"Well then, why don't I let _you_ help me with that then, since you're such a brainiac and all," Oswald says, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Very well," Edward says, dipping his head in assent, pretending not to notice his ire.

"You're quite the showman."

"I am."

"And you're an arrogant prick, too." Oswald shakes his head at him.

"I can't help it. I'm good, Oswald. Admit it." Edward can't help but grin.

Oswald groans and throws his hands up in frustration. "You know, I had a surprise lined up for you, Edward. But now that the boy is dead -"

"Oh?"

"I had planned it as a thank you to you for this first step."

"Oswald, you didn't have to do anything. I owed you this."

"Phah!" Oswald says, waving his hand dismissively, before motioning to one of his staff to present what he had hired Gotham's best living tailor to make for his best friend.

Edward turns to see the man bring in a valet stand showcasing a brand new suit with a fine selection of ties. He gasps, bringing his hands to his face.

"Oswald, you shouldn't have."

Oswald just smiles as his best friend walks over to admire it closer.

Edward touches the slightly sparkly material. Green. He traces his long, delicate fingers over the small question marks embedded within the weave of the fabric. His signature mark, perfectly matching the top of his staff.

Oswald comes up behind him. "It will really shine once you're onstage."

"I bet."

"Tonight."

"Come again?"

"Let's just say this town is ripe for some Riddle Time . . ."

". . . at the Riddle Factory?" Edward asks, astonished.

"Yes." Oswald grins smugly at the shock on his face. "What? Did you think I would just leave all your stuff down in The Narrows? I didn't even leave Lee behind. That should tell you something."

"Yes," Edward pulls his best friend in for a fierce hug. "Yes, it does. Thank you. Thank you so much, Oswald. I missed this."


	29. Chapter 29

Edward and Oswald are backstage together as they await showtime. People are making their way into the underground auditorium - underground because Jeremiah had blasted all the buildings around it, effectively burying it. But it was somehow still functional - and that was all that mattered.

"What better way to show Gotham that The Riddler is not only still alive, but treacherous? And certainly not someone to be trifled with," Oswald says as he fusses with the lapels of Edward's new suit.

"I like the sound of that," he answers with a toothy grin. And then he continues with a flourish, "My triumphant return to the stage!"

"Yes, and what a night it will be," Oswald says. "If only we can get your tie right."

Frustrated, he pulls off the tie that Edward is wearing none to gently and grabs another one.

"Owww!"

"Oh, sorry, your neck. I forgot that Tabby almost strangled you," Oswald says, his arms fluttering around it, desiring, but not knowing how to make it feel better. "At least you still have your voice. Not like last time. With Butch."

"Ha! Seems like I'm always sticking my neck out for you."

Oswald silently puts a new tie on him - gently, this time. He flattens the collar of his shirt and can't help but brush away what can only be imaginary flecks of dust.

"Oswald, you don't have to fuss."

"I know, but . . ." Oswald finds one more speck of something to pick off of his suit. "It's your big night. I want everything to be absolutely perfect!"

"It will be," Edward says. "You've restored all my props beautifully."

"That's because I need you to be inspired tonight. . ."

"I won't fail you, Oswald."

And he had no intentions to. Oswald had only invited his enemies and rivals to the event - secretly of course - they were all under the impression that it was some great honor, that only the elite, the select few, would be in attendance. They were the select few alright - just not in the way they imagined and they had been culled from the ever growing menagerie of Gotham's villains for slaughter and torture - Riddler style.

All except. . . _him_.

"If anyone can upstage you, it would be him," Oswald taunts, peeking out the curtain. Edward doesn't like the sound of his tone, so he joins his best friend, staring out over his head to watch William's dramatic entrance.

Four women adorned as priestesses of Isis dance down one of the aisles barefoot, swinging incense balls delicately, as if they were lotus flowers themselves. They release small puffs of colored smoke that smell like the famed flower.

Then two men in full costume appear at the top of the aisle. They look just like the Ancient Egyptians' depictions of Anubis, the jackal-headed god of the dead. Fearsome.

They part to the side and bang their staffs twice, making way for William, who, as Edward had recently learned is more commonly known as The Pharaoh.

He is majestic as he is carried high above the others on a golden litter borne by his men. His muscular chest is oiled and it gleams in the light of the auditorium. You can hear some of the women sigh as he passes them. Even Oswald's eyes grow bright.

After his litter is set down, William removes his formidable headdress and his entourage leaves. He throws his arms wide and bows to the cheering crowd before taking his seat.

"What a spectacular entrance," Edward says, his voice flat.

"He is something else, isn't he?" Oswald agrees, nodding, not even noticing that Edward isn't exactly pleased about that.

"Okay, friend," Oswald says, straightening Edward's tie and tugging on his lapels one last time. "Knock 'em dead."

"Oh, I intend to."

 _Please note: I'll be taking a couple of days off from posting this fic to celebrate the Christmas holiday. Take care everyone!_


	30. Chapter 30

Edward, aka The Riddler, takes the stage and as promised his new suit takes on quite a sheen in the limelight. And it is glorious. He bows his head and dramatically lifts a hand to the rim of his bowler hat, waiting just a second before he raises it and calls out to the assembled masses, "What time is it?"

The crowd knows just what to say. "Riddle Time!"

Lifting his staff, he yells out the obligatory second, "What time is it?"

And they answer back with even more enthusiasm than before, "Riddle Time!"

"That's right - it's Riddle Time at The Riddle Factory!"

The crowd goes wild as he spins his staff quickly before taking a bow that ends in a little flourish. It feels GREAT to be back on stage!

Edward looks over at his freshly restored Wheel of Misfortune with a little smile.

 _Rabid Sack of Rats_

 _Pop Goes the Kneecaps_

 _You're on Fire!_

 _Angry Alley Cat Got Your Tongue_

 _Pulling Your Fingernails Off with a Rusty Spoon_

 _Stapling a Live Barracuda to Your Face_

 _Five Finger Discount_

 _Fire Ants in Your Pants_

 _What's Eating You_

 _Hot Coal Tango_

These people really don't know what they are in store for tonight. He's pretty sure most of them had never even been to The Narrows for one of his shows - that they've only heard about them. He beams his signature smile at them.

What a treat this is going to be!

"Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce my assistant . . ." He holds out a hand. "Ecco!"

The petite woman coming to the stage is the quiet type. Quiet, but fierce. Somehow Edward knows that she could kick his ass in a heartbeat and that she wouldn't hesitate if provoked. He wonders where Oswald had found her.

Ecco, wearing a more subdued version of his former assistant's costume, steps up onto the stage and takes a small bow. For a moment, Edward realizes that he misses the tall, sassy brunette, Lila, who had been his assistant in The Narrows. Like so many others who had resided there, she had not survived the fall of Gotham.

"Okay, on with the show!" The Riddler exclaims, brushing the thought aside. "Who will be my first volunteer?"

There is general chattering, but no volunteers. He cups an ear dramatically towards the audience. "What's that I hear? You don't know how to play?"

There are shouts of assent.

"Okay, okay," The Riddler puts a hand up to calm the crowd. "Tonight, the Riddle Factory will work like this. You will give me a riddle to solve, and if I'm correct, we will move on to Round Two. But if I am wrong . . . I will have to spin The Wheel of Misfortune and suffer one of the glorious tortures upon it."

The crowd is delighted that more than just money and torture are at stake - they are absolutely thrilled that The Riddler is putting _himself_ on the line. They cheer until he holds up a hand to silence them once more and says, "Ecco, if you please . . ."

Ecco slowly rotates The Wheel so all can read what is upon it. There are simultaneously 'oohs and aahs' mixed in with infrequent gasps of horror.

"Now, in Round Two, I will give YOU a riddle to solve. If you are correct, you will get to spin The Wheel and choose a member of this fine audience to suffer the consequences." The Riddler grins smugly before continuing. "I'm sure you all have many enemies here tonight . . . But if you are incorrect, one of two things will happen."

The Riddler steps further downstage and the entire audience goes quiet.

Putting up a finger, he says, "You will still spin the Wheel of Misfortune, but then FATE will decide whether it's YOU who suffers . . . or someone else."

A couple of hecklers yell out from the audience.

 _"Wait . . . Fate?"_

 _"Yeah. Who decides?"_

The Riddler takes one more step closer to the audience, removes his bowler hat, and looks down. He taps his staff once, then holds it steady. Then he tips his head up quickly and dramatically, revealing a very toothy and very devilish grin.

"Me."

The audience erupts in applause and Edward looks up at Oswald's box to wink at him before putting his hat back on.

"Okay." The Riddler takes in a breath. "Without further ado . . . ON WITH THE SHOW!"


	31. Chapter 31

Edward finds it exhilarating! Pitting people against each other. Former friends, current rivals. Truth be told, he likes it better than robbing banks.

". . . And now, I call Firefly up to the stage!"

Of course, she couldn't come up with a riddle to stump The Riddler. Round One had been over in mere seconds. And Round Two? She loses again. Edward is delighted when the Wheel of Misfortune stops on "You're on Fire!"

Oh the irony! He points his staff at The Wheel and turns towards the crowd, engaging them, riling them up with his signature laugh. Then he stops and motions for the crowd to quiet down.

"In all seriousness, Firefly," The Riddler says, walking over to her. "I'll let you off the hook - we won't be setting _you_ on fire - I'll pick another victim of The Wheel myself. But I'll let you do the honors."

She shoots a stream of fire into the air as an answer.

He's been waiting for this. Waiting for his own chance at revenge. This is too perfect He'd been holed up in block of ice for almost half a year courtesy of this guy.

"Mr. Fries, please come up to the stage."

Everyone gasps, knowing Fries wouldn't survive a slight rise in temperature outside of his suit, let alone a full blown fireball assault even enclosed inside of it. His suit is not impenetrable to that kind of heat - at least, not yet. Edward suspects he'll figure out how to get around that weakness someday. But today is not that day.

The Riddler chuckles and twirls his staff, awaiting his revenge. He looks pointedly at Firefly. "I'm waiting. "

Mr. Fries is standing there so stoically. This is so much fun!

But then, the unthinkable happens.

Firefly turns the flamethrower on herself and just stands in there in the fire it produces as if it's nothing more than a refreshing shower.

Victor Fries' mouth freezes open in shock as he watches her.

Then she turns it off and says to The Riddler, "I decided to pick my own victim. We done here?"

Edward doesn't quite know how he should respond to that. He looks up at Oswald, who gives him a brief nod indicating that these two aren't to be killed for their insubordination. This is after all, _his_ game.

It's apparent that Oswald is satisfied with the information that had been gathered, the relationships revealed by this turn of events. These two were still allies, possibly more. The whole scene smacked of Butch and Tabby.

"Okay, you two, off you go!" The Riddler turns back to the crowd after waving them off the stage. "Who's next?"

It's hard to tell, because he blends in so well in dark, dim spaces, but The Scarecrow raises his hand.

"Scarecrow!" The Riddler calls out. "Come on down!"

As he makes his way onto the stage, Edward gives him a wide berth, not interested in getting anywhere near the notorious fear toxin he keeps up his sleeve. He knows The Scarecrow could easily spray him with it if he lets himself get too close.

Edward's mind tortures him enough as it is - he doesn't need an external source. But frankly, the man alone gives him the heebie-jeebies standing there in his garb of brown sack and spooky hat . . . all of his face covered except for his black-rimmed eyes. The Scarecrow used to be a person . . . but now? Edward shakes off the thought and starts Round One.

Boom! He knocks The Scarecrow's riddle out of the park. One down. Now for Round Two. . .

And just as predicted, The Scarecrow is no match for the wits of The Riddler. It is time to spin the Wheel.

As Ecco reaches up to pull on it, The Riddler calls out, "Wait!"

The crowd quiets down in anticipation of what he will say next.

"Since you are The Scarecrow, and you peddle in fear, my good sir, I think we should run this part a little differently. Give it a little suspense if you will. Call your victim to the stage _first_. Then we shall spin the Wheel."

"I call Jervis Tetch," he says ominously, in that warped, sinister voice of his.

The Mad Hatter? Weren't they friends? Edward looks up at Oswald, who is as confounded as he is. Turns out they are definitely gathering some solid information about various alliances in Gotham with this little endeavor - more than they had ever hoped for.

And now it's time to see whether or not Jervis Tetch survives The Wheel. He's been disarmed of his pocket watch since before he was even allowed into the theater, yet still, Edward remains cautious and on the lookout for anything he could possibly use as a beat to put others in a trance as he ascends the stage.

"Ecco," The Riddler says once Hatter has taken his place. "The Wheel, please."

After Ecco tugs on The Wheel, initiating its perilous spin, Jervis Tetch stands there facing it, an anxious look on his face. He's taken off his hat and is turning it over and over in his hands. But you never can tell sometimes - perhaps Tetch is only acting like he's nervous because he has something planned with The Scarecrow and doesn't want to let on. Edward doesn't trust this. He keeps a close eye on both of them.

And then The Wheel stops on . . .

 _Fire Ants in Your Pants_

The Riddler laughs uproariously. "Guess we know who won't be having any amorous encounters tonight!"

"Or ever again, once I take you to Jeremiah." Ecco says so quietly that only those onstage can hear her. Then she pulls open the front of Tetch's pants and unceremoniously dumps the colony of fire ants down them. "You fucked with the wrong girl."

Tetch drops to the ground, screaming, grabbing his crotch and begging for mercy. The Scarecrow stands over him and just laughs and laughs. It is an eerie sound, coming through his breathing apparatus.

Ecco is absolutely dwarfed by The Scarecrow's height and size, yet she's still menacing as she walks over to him, looks him directly in the eye and says, "Don't laugh. You chose the wrong side, too."

What is she talking about?

Then, she single-handedly drags Jervis Tetch offstage.


	32. Chapter 32

The crowd grows restless as one betrayal after another starts to lead more to feelings of anger than amusement. Edward knows that he should probably be wrapping it up before things get out of hand - he's already gathered a decent amount of information and delivered plenty of punishment to Oswald's various enemies and rivals by this point.

But then _William_ volunteers. And he is not an enemy, but someone Oswald wants to ally with. Suddenly, Edward needs to play nice in an environment that is rigged for anything but.

William dons his headdress once again before taking the stage.

Edward knows this is a man of high education and if Oswald is to be believed, intelligence. So, the riddle he poses to him is a mystery.

" _My mouth is in the North, yet my head is in the South . . ._

 _That is why_ _some assume I flow backwards._

 _As I traverse the lands, I unite upper and lower kingdoms by sharing the riches of my yearly bounty._

 _What am I?"_

It is too simplistic. Is he trying to lose?

"The Nile," The Riddler answers flatly.

The Pharaoh smiles broadly and tips his head in assent.

"Okay," The Riddler says. "We're on to Round Two and my riddle for you."

"I am ready," The Pharaoh replies and crosses his strong arms over his broad chest, making the flesh of his forearms ripple. Is he trying to look like a sex god? Edward shakes his head. He doesn't really have to try. Isn't being a Pharaoh enough?

"I propose we play out Round Two in a slightly different manner," The Riddler says.

"How so?"

"If you can successfully answer my riddle, I propose we take our mutual friend out on the town. And if you can't. . ." Edward thinks that it would be highly unlikely, but it's worth a try, since William may not be as smart as he's been made out to be. "You will say yes to every demand our friend has asked for in his agreement."

The Pharaoh raises an eyebrow.

There are mutters throughout the room. Who is this friend that The Pharaoh and The Riddler share?

"Done," The Pharaoh agress. "Let's get to it. On with your riddle!"

In order to play nice, Edward decides upon a riddle easy enough for an Egyptologist, yet obscure enough to seem difficult to those who aren't well versed in Ancient Egyptian religion or iconography. He doesn't want to tip his hand that he's doing any favors for this man.

" _It is the key of life_

 _Carried by ancient deities_

 _To open the gates of death._

 _What is it?"_

Edward can see the exact moment William knows the answer to the riddle. The change in expression passes over his face within seconds. Yet. . .

He doesn't say anything.

Edward looks over at Ecco and the grains of green sand flowing through the hourglass, timing William's response. She's got some very visible blood scattered about her face, arms, and legs - blood that had appeared only after she had escorted Jervis Tetch off the stage. Edward's not sure if he's even alive anymore.

Recalling the words Ecco had said to Tetch, Edward wonders if Jeremiah - the big bad destroyer of Gotham - might not be backstage . . . watching. The notion is frightening. Edward pushes the paranoid thought from his mind, but makes a mental note to ask Oswald about it later.

The grains of sand run out and The Pharaoh shrugs and smiles amiably, putting his hand out to The Riddler for a shake.

But The Riddler just narrows his eyes at him and doesn't take it.

Up in his box, Oswald has his fingers steepled over his lips, his smug and nasty smile not completely hidden from view.

What are these two playing at?

* * *

 _And once again, the riddles in this chapter were drafted by me! :-)_


	33. Chapter 33

After Edward closes down The Riddle Factory for the night, he meets up with Oswald, who is already in the midst of having dinner with William.

"Sorry, we already ordered," Oswald says, munching on some appetizers. "But I'm sure the server will come around again and you can order, too. Your meal shouldn't arrive too much later than ours."

William takes a long drink of stout from the wide glass in front of him. Edward can't help but think that stout is an odd beverage pairing for a meal. It's likely to overwhelm the delicate flavor of the gourmet dishes this place serves.

"Wasn't that a grand entrance that William made?" Oswald beams at William before looking pointedly at Edward, obviously trying to get a rise out of him.

"If you say so," Edward replies neutrally, trying not to sound affected by his words in any way.

"Well, I think The Riddler here put on a fabulous show!" William says generously, clapping him on the back. "I was sure impressed."

"Thank you." At least _William_ is appreciative of his efforts.

"Not only that, but your boyfriend drives a hard bargain," William says as he turns to Oswald with an approving nod.

"Excuse me?" Edward asks.

Oswald practically spits his drink back into his tumbler as he stammers and turns beet red. "No, we - I … I - William, that's not quite what I sa -"

"We're not together," Edward says firmly.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I guess I misunderstood," William says, eyeing both of them carefully, apparently deep in thought.

"Yes, you see, my friend, Edward is with someone else," Oswald explains.

"Is that so?" William asks.

Edward nods.

After a pause, William busts out laughing like he's finally gotten the joke. But there is no joke. A wide grin graces his face as jovially, teasingly, he says to Oswald, "Well, I guess there's no accounting for taste then, is there?"

"That's what I keep telling him," Oswald says.

Edward watches with narrowed eyes as the two of them clink their glasses together.

* * *

After the last plate is brought to the table, Oswald says, "Speaking of taste, William, if you must know, I'm not really into all this showy, overly dramatic, stagecraft that Edward's got going on."

Oswald wrinkles his nose in distaste.

"Oh?" William asks.

"You should have seen Edward when he started up this whole Riddler bit," Oswald waves his hand dismissively. "What a disaster."

Edward's eyes narrow. "Oh, really?"

"Yes! Also, how can I forget your little Penguin show down in The Narrows with Lee? Where you _mocked_ _me_ and encouraged that Narrows scum to rise up against me?" Oswald purses his lips into a deep pout and looks at Edward in a manner that could easily be construed as condescending. "You hurt me."

"Oswald, we've been _through_ this." Edward can't believe they're revisiting this at all, let alone right now in front of their dinner companion. "I was in a bad place. WE were in a bad place. You had me frozen and put on display like a - ugh. You deserved it Oswald - it was the least you deserved. Your antics on the docks that day fucked with my brain."

"Your brain fog was temporary. But what you did to me? You _killed_ me, Edward," Oswald starts to laugh hysterically - always a dangerous laugh. And then he repeats himself before starting up that laughter again. "You killed me!"

Speaking of temporary, THAT was temporary - if it had happened at all. Edward shows his teeth and growls, "Of course I did. After you killed Isabella!"

"Oh, yes. Poor Isabelle," Oswald goads Edward, turning to William and saying in an all-too-loud conspiratorial whisper, "She was another of Edward's tragic lapses in taste."

That's it.

Edward grabs a knife from the table and vaults to his feet, slamming it down into the soft wood in front of Oswald as he screams, "ISABELL - AHHHHH!

William abruptly stands up, towering over Edward, who's still leaning into the knife.

"Edward? Can we have a word?"

"Not now," Edward says, not even looking at him. What the hell had gotten into Oswald tonight?

He pulls the knife out roughly, drops it between himself and Oswald, and points his finger at him. "How DARE you defile her memory, Oswald."

"I think we should have that word, Edward," William says and crosses his arms. "Now."

Edward understands the implied threat. He picks up the knife he had just dropped and shakes it in Oswald's face. "Don't you EVER besmirch her memory again."

Then he throws it onto his plate of barely eaten food.

"You're lucky we're still friends, Oswald."


	34. Chapter 34

Edward downs one shot after another, not saying a word to William, who just sits there silently. When the bartender asks him if he needs anything besides the stout he had brought over from the table, he just puts up a hand. And then finally, he speaks.

"How long has it been?"

"Come again?" Edward asks.

"Since you and Oswald. . ."

"Since me and Oswald what?" Edward asks, nastily.

Understanding finally dawns on William's face. "Oh, I thought you two were -"

"Well, you thought wrong." Edward knows exactly what he's thinking - thanks to Oswald no doubt. "We're close, but we've never been together. We're friends. JUST friends."

"So then. . ." William persists along the same line of questioning. "How long has he been in love with you?"

"Too long for his own good." Edward sighs and sets down the shot glass that was poised at his lips. He turns to William and asks, "Just how well do you know Oswald?"

"I know him well enough to know that he's quite intelligent," William says, giving Edward a slight nod. ". . . just not in the same way we are."

"What do you mean?"

"Oswald has this innate ability - no, _genius_ \- when it comes to people." William stares off into space softly for a second. "He can hone in on one's insecurity and just pick and pick and pick . . ."

"Humph." Edward has to admit to himself that William is right. Oswald so easily baits him. Time and time again.

"I've seen him use this to manipulate people, or to just let off some steam."

"What do you suppose it was this time?" Edward asks.

"Oh, I don't suppose," William says, "I _know_."

"Do tell."

"He's livid about you losing that boy."

"I'll have you know, that _I_ did not lose that boy." Edward says defensively. "He must have self-destructed."

"While you were separating him from his mother."

"Not my fault."

"That's not what Oswald thinks."

Edward looks back over to the table where Oswald is sitting, arms crossed and glaring at no one in particular. Ugh. He can be _so_ pissy sometimes.

"So, all of that nonsense back there was just about his disappointment over that boy's death?" Edward shakes his head. "What a little snit!"

"In his defense," William puts up a hand and says, "If you peel back the layers far enough, you can see that it's all about his mother."

Edward's brows come together and his fingers come up to his lips while he thinks about that. He decides that William's instincts are dead on - Oswald hadn't completed his revenge on Tabby for his mother's death yet. A major setback like this would be enough to set _anyone_ off. Edward feels sympathy for his friend once again and his annoyance at Oswald begins dissipating. And it had taken William's interference to do that.

But he's perplexed about something. "How do you know about Oswald's mother?"

"We've grown close."

"Close?" Edward asks. "Close how?"

"Let me show you something." William adjusts his shendyt - the wrap-around skirt that he wears about his waist - and pulls out something that had been hanging from the belt holding it in place.

It is golden - very likely genuine solid gold - and he fans it out for Edward to see. It almost looks like a fan one would wear to keep themselves cool, but it can't be - gold that thick is too dense, too unwieldy for that - and even held in William's strong hands, Edward can tell that it is heavy.

The center of it is a sun disk, and its blades are numerous. They have tiny hands at their ends and those hands hold looped crosses.

"I have many eyes in Gotham," William says.

"Eyes? Those are ankhs."

"As you so cleverly stated in your riddle, they are keys of life."

"I don't follow."

"My eyes are dead."

Edward looks at William's brown eyes - softer than his - and studies the heavy kohl that lines them in a pattern drawn to resemble the Eye of Horus.

"They don't look dead to me."

William belly laughs and pats him on the shoulder. "You're hilarious, Edward. So literal."

Edward isn't sure that's exactly a compliment.

When William stops laughing, he leans into Edward and says quietly. "Okay, I'll let you on a little secret. My spies - my eyes - aren't alive. I like to think of them as my Scarab Army."

"Why? Are they dead beetles or something?"

Again William laughs and laughs. "You are too much, Edward. I like you. I really like you."

He gives him a terse smile. "I don't see what this has to do with Oswald -"

"Oh, right. Yes, I'll get to the point," William says. "My Scarab Army is exactly why he and I have allied. My Scarabs can be Oswald's eyes and ears in so many places - hiding in plain sight just like beetles. Overlooked, unnoticed."

Wait? They signed the contract already? Edward feels like he's been duped. His eyes narrow. "So, what do you get out of this agreement with Oswald?"

The big man blanches and stammers a little, not having expected such a question from Edward. "Uh . . . um. Friendship? A chance to . . ."

"A chance to what?"

William's hands are shaking a bit as he touches them to his glass of stout on the bar. He looks down and says quietly. "Nothing."

Amazing that such an imposing man could become so flummoxed by such a simple question.

* * *

When Edward returns to the table with William, he says to Oswald, "Negotiations going well?"

He doesn't appreciate being lied to by his best friend and his tone is quite snippy.

Oswald pretends not to let on that he knows he's been found out. "Splendidly. Negotiations with William have been quite enjoyable so far."

 _So far_ . . . Edward suppresses the urge to call his bluff.

"Much more enjoyable than your little foray with Lee down to the beach. That must have been soooo boring." Oswald rolls his eyes.

Edward just shakes his head.


	35. Chapter 35

Edward leans on the railing of the ferry that is taking him under the cover of night away from Gotham and watches the dark water swirl behind it. It is Oswald's private ferry and one of the only ways to escape the city since the bridges that Jeremiah had blown up have not been rebuilt.

What a night!

William had turned out not to be so bad after all.

 _After the dessert that Oswald had impulsively ordered for them all while Edward and William were at the bar extinguishes itself - it's a cherry flambe - Edward says, "So, Oswald, solve a mystery for me . . . Who was my assistant tonight? Where did you find her?"_

" _You mean, Ecco? I thought_ you _found her._ I _had hired someone named . . . Query I think it was. I thought you'd like her name - that it would go well with 'The Riddler' that you've become."_

 _Curious. And not in a good way. Edward wonders how Ecco had dispatched of this Query person in order to take her place._

" _You know, Edward, I was hoping someone would have spun The Wheel and landed on 'Angry Alley Cat got your Tongue.' Now that would have been a sight to behold!" William says brightly."I love cats."_

 _"It's good thing The Sirens didn't crash this little party," Oswald says with a smirk. "Wouldn't want Edward to have a run in with The Tigress o_ _nce she figures out that we're actually allies_ _and get himself all scratched up because he lost her son, now, would we?"_

 _Again? Edward wishes Oswald would just let it go . But he knows he can't. As William had pointed out, this was really about his mother - and his missed chance at revenge._

" _Well, my Scarab Army has kept them in the dark, as I promised you they would, Oswald," William says firmly, diffusing things before they start to go bad between Edward and Oswald again. "And they'll stay deep within The Sirens to make sure that anything that may leak will sound like nothing more than a rumor . . ."_

" _I knew I could count on you, William," Oswald says. "Thank you. You've been such a blessing, you know that, don't you?"_

 _William's face takes on an 'aw, shucks' expression as he ducks his chin a bit. Oswald doesn't notice. Edward remembers what that had felt like in the early days with Oswald - how it felt to be acknowledged and praised by him. Oswald was the first person who had ever truly appreciated his genius. He was forever grateful to him for that._

" _William, you said your 'eyes' weren't alive, so how can they influence the thoughts of The Sirens? I'm curious," Edward says._

" _Buttermilk," he answers confidently._

" _Come again?"_

" _Wait for it. . ." Oswald says quietly. There's obviously some private joke here._

" _Why, Edward . . ." William leans across the table towards him and says in all seriousness. "Buttermilk. It's the secret to re-animating a corpse."_

 _WOW. The man really IS crazy._

Edward smiles, remembering how the rest of that conversation had gone.

He finds himself missing Lee and The Doc and wants to get back to them. He visualizes their face in the swirls of the water. He wants to touch it so badly . . .

To trail a hand down from her cheek to her breast, to take a nipple into his mouth and bite it teasingly until she begs him to just get to it, to penetrate her all the way to the hilt and listen to her sigh as he does so. . .

He shivers with pleasure just thinking about it, but somehow convinces himself that it's nothing more than the cold.


	36. Chapter 36

When Edward returns to the orphanage, Lee is nowhere to be found. It's the middle of the day - she should have been in her clinic at the very least.

He asks around but only gets hounded by excited gaggles of girls wondering when auditions for Paradise Lost will be held. He tells them that as soon as all his revisions to the script have been made that he'll start casting. He found that he had needed to shorten and simplify it quite significantly for primary school kids.

" _How many parts will there be Mr. Nygma?"_

" _I hope there will be some juicy ones."_

" _Yeah! Tell us!"_

" _Patience girls. Patience."_

* * *

Edward finally finds her when he goes back to their quarters in the orphanage. Except . . . she's not the one he'd been expecting to see.

She sits on the side of their bed, clutching both Pooky Bear and Pokey Bear tightly to her chest. And weeping.

She doesn't have to speak for him to know who she is. He sits down softly beside her and says, "Leslie?"

She looks up at him with tear-stained eyes. "I miss my mommy!"

Edward rubs her back. "I know you do, sweetheart."

"No, you don't understand. I've been abandoned." She sucks in a sniffling breath while she hands Pokey Bear to him. "And not just by her."

"Abandoned?"

"Just like them."

It takes him a moment to realize what she means.

"Who? These kids at the orphanage?"

This was new.

She nods and then reaches out to take Pokey Bear back from him. Edward had not been paying attention to him, and the bear was drooping from his arm.

"Don't drop him!" She screeches. "It's not his fault that his mommy died."

"Okay, Leslie, I won't." Edward brings Pokey Bear to his chest and clutches him tightly like she's doing with Pooky Bear. "Better?"

She nods and wipes some snot off her nose. "We all miss Kristen."

What?

"Pokey Bear misses his mommy more than the rest of us. You can't abandon him, too!"

"Leslie, I won't."

What is this all about? When did Kristen suddenly become Pokey Bear's mom? He's not sure he even saw his daughter playing with him. But there _had_ been a significant portion of time that he had been out of it. . .

"Daddy did," Leslie says.

"Excuse me?"

"Daddy couldn't take it after Mommy died and he left me all alone."

"What do you mean?"

"I was alone in that house. I had to take care of myself."

"Wait? He left after your mother died?" Edward asks incredulously. This was definitely new. Lee had never told him this. What was Leslie talking about?

She frowns. "See, now you sound like all the others. What's the big deal, Leslie? Grow up, Leslie. You're a big girl, stop crying. You can handle it, Leslie."

"I don't understand."

"Daddy didn't love me anymore. He only loved work. I had to fend for myself."

"In what way?"

"I had to feed myself. Every day, every meal. I had never had to do that before. I had to learn how to wash my own clothes. I'm very good at it now, but I made a lot of mistakes before I figured it out. And I had to keep the house clean. Even in places I couldn't reach." She sniffles. "I fell off a ladder one day when no one was around to help me."

"Were you hurt?"

"Yes," Leslie starts crying really hard again and grabs Pokey Bear back from him roughly. "I broke my arm."

"How long was it until you were found?"

"Four hours."

"Oh my god." He takes the crying Leslie into his arms, teddy bears and all, and lets her cry onto his chest for a while. Then he asks, "You learned to take care of yourself from a very young age, didn't you?"

"Yes," she whimpers. "Eddie, why didn't anyone love me enough to take care of me?"

"I don't know, Leslie. But I do," Edward says. "I'll take care of you - all of you - anytime you need me to. I promise."

* * *

"Sorry about that," The Doc says as she pulls away from his arms and dries Leslie's tears. He hadn't really noticed her change, just a tensing of her body right before she pulled away. "I can take care of myself, really."

"I don't doubt it," Edward says.

"Good," she says and nods her head. "So this is all just a misunderstanding."

She looks down at the bears, one more pathetic than the other.

"Doc?"

"Yes?"

"It's okay to not want to be abandoned by someone you love."

There's nothing but silence between them for a while as she picks some of Pokey Bear's fuzz off of Pooky Bear. Then she turns to him and speaks.

"You know what? Jim left me when I needed him. When I LET myself need him." She gives him a sardonic smile. "That kinda messed me up."

"I think it was more than just Jim . . ." Edward says lowly. "Your father was derelict in his duties at a time when any child would need their parent."

"Well then, maybe I just don't want to be let down again. Maybe I don't want to need anyone anymore ever again. What do you think about that?"

"I think deep down, as you've admitted to me in certain moments. . ."

Like the two of them standing over Kristen's grave.

". . . that you don't want me to leave you. And I understand that. Being abandoned sucks."

The Doc looks at him oddly, but doesn't say anything. She almost looks like she's having a conversation in her head.

Edward continues, "Just because you don't want to be left behind, left alone, it doesn't mean that you're weak. It doesn't mean you're not your own woman. It just means that you're human."

She lets out a deep sigh and crosses her arms.

As she turns away from he says softly, "I wouldn't want to lose you either."

 _But I'm going to anyway, aren't I?_ The thought goes unspoken.


	37. Chapter 37

Edward ends up spending the rest of the day and into the first half of the evening putting the finishing touches on the modified script for the _Paradise Lost_ auditions he was going to run for the girls the next day and he also worked on preparing the theater for everything - he hated to leave any detail unfinished.

But once he was done, all he could think about was _her_. The Doc. She was usually in charge of her body at night - and he was horny. Very horny.

He had missed her so much while he had been away in Gotham.

The two of them had learned to be quiet during their sexual romps given that they were currently living within the orphanage itself and could potentially scare the kids if they weren't careful and made too much noise.

Edward finds her in their bed and she accidentally spills some of the dark drink from her tumbler when she turns to greet him.

"Here, let me get that for you," he says, taking the tumbler out of her hand and stripping the bed of the bedspread that had just gotten soaked.

"Hey!" she protests.

"I'll only be a minute," he answers from the bathroom, where he'd taken the bedspread to quickly hand-wash it and hang it up to dry. The thought of sleeping in soiled bedding was unpalatable to him.

Edward puts on his pajamas and finds an additional blanket in the closet to replace the soiled bedspread. But when he goes to join The Doc in bed, he notices that she's nodding off.

"Long day?" he asks as he gets into bed.

"Not really. . ." she says almost vacantly.

"Here," he spreads the blanket over the both of them, encouraging her to snuggle down with him.

But she does more than that.

She puts her head under the blanket and finds her way to the fly of his pajama bottoms so swiftly that all he has time to do is breathe in swiftly as he feels her mouth envelop his cock. Warm, wet, inviting. . . vigorous.

Too vigorous.

"Doc?" Edward says.

"Hmmm?"

"I want to pleasure you as well."

"Really?" Her dark eyes shine from underneath the covers and she wiggles her ass a little. Oh god, now he's even harder than before.

"Yes!" he says and dives down into the blanket with her, turning her over, using his knee to spread her legs. But she's . . .

"Zzzzzz. . ."

Suddenly asleep. Damn.

* * *

When he awakens, he finds that Lee is prodding him. Speaking quietly, she says, "Edward. Edward."

"Mmmm." He rolls over, then rolls back. "What is it, Lee?"

"I wanted to catch you bright and early before I head off to the clinic this morning."

"What? Why?" He puts on his glasses and as she comes into focus, he notices that she looks haggard. He reaches out to her and strokes her arm. "Are you sick or something? You don't look to good."

She dismissively waves her hand and says, "Well, I do feel like shit, that's for sure. But it's nothing to worry about - I'm just hung over."

"The Doc," Edward says. It's not a question.

"Yeah," Lee answers. "She sure likes her liquor. But I pay the price. Every morning it seems like now."

"The drinking's gotten worse?" He wasn't sure that was possible. Ever since he'd run into Lee at Cherry's Place, he noticed that she'd hit the bottle pretty hard. But letting on that a hangover was bothering her? That was new.

"Yes," Lee says and hangs her head. "It would be one thing if she was the one who had to slog through the next day with the aftermath, but she's not. There's no consequences for her. And I'm the one who has to try to hide the remaining alcohol on my breath as I treat these kids."

"Huh."

"Anyway, Edward, what I wanted to say was, I'm sorry she conked out on you. I wanted to make love to you, too."

He goes in to kiss her and she puts up a hand, wincing. "Not now. I've got a headache."

Edward groans inwardly. This day is getting off to a _great_ start. No release in sight.


	38. Chapter 38

At breakfast - which they can take nice and slow now that she had woken them up so early - Lee asks Edward about his trip to Gotham.

"Well . . ." He poses dramatically. "Oswald treated me to The Riddle Factory."

"No way!"

"Yes, he didn't just recover our bodies from The Narrows, but my props, too."

He goes on to tell her how he had changed the rules of the game for the special event, putting himself on the line as well.

"Okay Mr. Smarty Pants, what would you have done had you lost and gotten your kneecap busted, your hands chopped off, or set on fire? Did you even think about that?" She's trying to sound playful, but she comes off sounding a little worried.

He smiles, bearing most of his teeth. With the utmost confidence he says, "I would not have lost."

"Oh, the arrogance!" Lee shakes her head in mock disgust but then leans forward. "But what if you HAD?"

"I had a plan."

"Oh, you did? Good. You're not as reckless as I thought. What was it?"

"Well . . . I had it rigged so that if I ever had to take a spin on The Wheel itself it would land on Rabid Sack of Rats - my favorite."

"What!? You'd give yourself rabies."

He winks and says, "I figured _you_ could heal me."

"Is that so?" Lee's eyes narrow. "And where the hell did you expect me to get my hands on rabies shots now that Gotham's fallen?"

He smiles devilishly. "I was hoping you would be sufficiently motivated to figure something out."

Lee raises an eyebrow.

"Because you love me. . ." he whispers.

"Okay, lemme get this straight . . . You were expecting me to prove my love to you by procuring rabies shots?"

He shrugs. "There are worse ways."

She groans and rolls her eyes.

* * *

"Oswald has a new friend."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, he's a good guy. William. Used to be a professor, but now he's a Pharaoh."

"Only in Gotham." Lee shakes her head.

"Yeah," he answers. Only in Gotham.

"I took Ancient Egyptian history as a minor in college," Lee says. "I was always fascinated with their interpretation of the underworld and how people believed death worked in ancient times."

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

"Huh."

"What?" Lee asks.

"It's just that after William regaled us with fantastical tales about how he built the Sphinx - he's delusional, did I mention that? - he started talking about his Scarab Army and what basically amounts to buttermilk zombies."

"Buttermilk zombies?" Lee tries to hold back a snort. "What are those?"

"Well, if you hear William tell it, they're real. He claims he's been bringing bodies back from the dead. And Gotham has so many bodies. . ."

"That's for sure. So, how does he do it?"

"The secret, my dear, is buttermilk," Edward imitates William, leaning in with one eyebrow cocked and all.

She laughs.

"No, seriously, he claims that the secret ingredient is buttermilk. Something about the acid it produces after it's gone sour and the fact that it originates as life-giving milk."

"Do you believe him?"

"I'm not sure . . ."

"So it's not a delusion."

"I don't think so," Edward says carefully. "But I'd like to see him re-animate a corpse first - watch the process myself. If he can do as he claims -"

"You might uncover something you can use against Professor Strange and his army of monsters," Lee finishes his sentence for him.

"Precisely."


	39. Chapter 39

"So how are Oswald and William friends again?"

"They're partners. Business partners. They recently formed an alliance."

Edward frowns as he remembers being purposely left out. Oswald had not shared that information and had made a fool of him later.

Yet. . .

William was really good at peacemaking. At first, his original dealings with Oswald had been to set up a peace treaty between Oswald's crime operation and his. But then, it had quickly morphed into a full-blown alliance - which both of them had ended up wanting.

William had even been able to diffuse the tension between himself and Oswald when things almost came to blows - or worse - over his disrespect for Isabella.

"Oswald picked at an old wound again while I was up there and William prevented me from tearing his throat out. He's really good at managing people and their emotions."

"Oh?" Lee asks, concerned. "What happened?"

"Oswald - that little snit - referred to Isabella as nothing more than my 'bad taste.'"

Lee brings a hand to her mouth. "Oh, no. He didn't."

"Yes, he did," Edward nods. "I ended up grabbing a knife."

"Yet, I see you're still alive," Lee says. "I'm assuming William disarmed you?"

"Yes, with mere words."

"Wow. I've got to meet this guy. As soon as you're pushed too far, you don't usually back down so easily. Or forget."

"It's not forgotten," Edward says. "Just tempered. William clued me in on what was really going on with Oswald."

"And?"

"Somehow Oswald thinks I messed up our mission." Edward won't tell her about Cyrus just yet - he doesn't have the heart to. "And delayed his revenge."

"Why does he have a problem with that?" Lee asks. "Isn't revenge a dish best served cold?"

"Not to Oswald. He likes it straight out of the oven, piping hot, preferably spilling over, making a total mess, and burning anyone who gets in its way."

Lee snorts. "You've got him pegged. I'll give you that."

"But I do forgive him his slight to the memory of my beloved," Edward says and looks off into the distance for a second before continuing. "Because Oswald sees this delay as a major offense to his mother's honor. Her memory. His revenge is for _her_ , you see."

"Okay, but do you forgive _him_ for Isabella's death?"

"Now that . . ." Edward steeples his fingers under his chin, ". . . is a good question."

"I forgive Jim."

"Huh?"

"For Mario." Lee sighs. "It ate me up for so long, but frankly I don't care anymore. I miss Mario, yes, you and I both know I always will, but -"

"But what?"

"You helped me find my purpose in The Narrows." Lee shrugs. "Ruling with you by my side was enough and somehow I just got over it."

Edward starts to tell her about what he had discovered in Strange's notebook about a single story merging multiple personalities into one. If she can find a purpose -

But she interrupts him before he can.

"I want to stay here, Edward," Lee says. "It's a good fit for me. I've always wanted a reason to stay away from Gotham and I can be who I was meant to be here. I can heal these kids and keep them well. My life has purpose again. Even if I am wrestling three of us inside this head of mine."

"But -" Edward's not sure he should even ask this one. "What about your dark side?"

"You mean The Doc?"

"Come on, both you and The Doc have one and you know it."

She sighs. "You're right. I'll have to think about what might satisfy that side of us. Besides messing around with you, Mr. Supervillain of Gotham."

She starts to ruffle his hair but he bats her hand away. "Hey, I just styled that!"

"Every strand is still in place." She assures him, grinning evilly. But she's lying - her smile gives it away - he must look very unkempt. "No, but seriously. I want to stay here. I think it will be good for me. And . . . I'm hoping you'll want to stay, too. . ."

"Lee -"

She interrupts him and puts up a hand before he can continue. "I know. You'll still need to make regular trips to Gotham even once Oswald's revenge scheme - and yours - is complete. We gotta feed _your_ dark side for sure. I wouldn't want the poor, innocent people of these Southern seaside towns to start disappearing now."

"What? Are you painting my appetite for evil as that of a mere serial killer?" Edward is almost offended. He rarely takes a life without setting up an intricate, well thought out puzzle first. And it is never random - he always has a good reason - at least, to his mind.

"No, I'm sure you'd go through the regular pomp and circumstance before making a kill."

"Good."

"So, what do you say? Can we stay?"

Edward doesn't have to think that hard about it. He's not leaving her - not a chance. And she's right, this place is a good fit for her. And in some way that he can't quite put his finger on it's a good fit for him as well.

"Let's do it," he answers.

"Great!' Lee says with great enthusiasm. "I've got us all set up for house hunting with the real estate agent tomorrow."

"Come again?"

Lee just smiles a cherub-like smile and giggles. He can never say no to that face.


	40. Chapter 40

"Okay, girls. Let's talk _Paradise Lost._ " Edward paces at the foot of the stage while all the children that want to and are well enough to audition sit in the audience, watching him.

"Satan," he says. One word, two syllables.

Some of the girls gasp.

"Yes, that demon of demons is the main character of our play. An anti-hero, if you will."

"Like you?" one of the girls shouts out.

"He's the Riddler, you know," someone else stage-whispers so loudly that everyone can hear.

There are nervous titters.

"In a way, yes," Edward answers, and looks down to smile secretly. The brim of his bowler hat is good at disguising the expression on his face when he wants it to. He's the Satan of Gotham, come to corrupt the innocent -

He stops the thought, looks back up at the audience full of innocents that he _doesn't_ wish to corrupt, and continues.

"In our play, Satan takes it upon himself to fight God, his father. But he is beaten, cast out." That should resonate with more than a few of these girls, he thinks - it certainly resonates with _him_. "As he lies there in a burning lake, utterly defeated, he contemplates revenge."

Edward's hand clenches into a fist. The girls "ooh" and "ahh."

"And he finds the opportunity to do just that in the new world that God has created. OUR world." He abruptly points out at the audience and swings his finger wide. "Who knows about Adam and Eve?"

A ton of "I do's" ring out.

"Excellent! Well . . . Satan had his eyes set on corrupting those two . . . all because God loved them and they were happy."

"Satan was jealous?" someone asked.

"Yes," Edward says solemnly. "That never leads to good things, as you'll see."

"Does Satan die?" one of the girls asks, wide eyed.

"No."

"Then, how is that bad?" she counters.

Edward has to hide a grin. This one's already sympathetic to the bad guy and he hasn't even finished his story.

"You're not supposed to be happy if villains aren't defeated and continue to reign," Edward looks around quickly to make sure none of the teachers or other staff have snuck in before saying in a stage whisper, "But, it's okay if you are."

That gets him some cheers.

"Okay, on with the story!"

* * *

"Hey!" Edward says as he notices Dini trying to shuffle past him out the door. "Dini!"

She looks around, likely not used to being called by her new name yet. "Me?"

"Yeah, you, kiddo."

"What do you want, Mr. Nygma?"

"Why didn't you audition?"

"Huh?"

"You sat in the auditorium watching while everyone else auditioned for the play."

She looks down and shuffles her feet from side to side. "I don't know."

"Aren't you interested in _Paradise Lost_?"

"Why, yes!" she exclaims, looking back up at him, her eyes aglow through her glasses. She practically jumps on the balls of her toes. "I'm very interested. It sounds so exciting!"

"Then, why didn't you audition?"

"Um . . ." She looks warily at a group of girls who look like they are waiting to speak to him. "I gotta go."

And then . . . she just takes off.

Edward scowls at the girls Dini had just been looking at until they take off as well, leaving their questions unanswered.


	41. Chapter 41

"And here we have that nice yellow bungalow I told you about," the real estate agent says, putting her key into the lock of a house in Beachview that is painted a subdued cream color.

. . . Not exactly yellow.

"When are you two getting married, again?" she asks Lee and Edward in a chipper voice, turning back and smiling at them before pushing open the door.

Lee had suggested earlier that they just play along with the fact that she had jumped to conclusions about their relationship. People were different here - they had different ways of looking at things - different morals. Lee thought that the two of them would be treated better if they didn't contradict some people's assumptions - like letting people think that they were sleeping in separate quarters at the orphanage - or like allowing this real estate agent to presume they were fiancees.

But her incessant chatter about their "upcoming nuptials" was making him queasy. Every time she pressed them for a date, he felt an increasingly uncomfortable twinge in his stomach. It was getting to be too much.

As Lee heads into the house with the real estate agent, Edward leans against the door frame and starts to shake - forgetting to follow them in.

" _Choose wisely, bud."_

He can feel his hair being ruffled, and it's not just from the sea breeze coming up from the nearby beach. It's from a memory.

 _Drip. . ._

 _Slam!_

"Edward!" Lee's hand is on his face. But he can't see it - only feel it. What he sees before him is entirely different. He vaguely hears Lee say to the real estate agent, "Can you give us a minute?"

 _The blood drips from his father's ear. Every time he sees a red droplet hit his shoulder, Edward can hear his mother slam the door on her way out. It makes it hard to concentrate on what his father is trying to tell him._

"I'm here, Edward. Try to come back to me, okay?"

His hand is in hers, his lifeline to the present.

When had she switched to The Doc? When had they even _sat down?_ He can feel the cushion beneath him.

 _The bed creaks as his father joins him on it, sitting down and wiping his brow with a shaky hand. His fingers trail over the bloody gashes his mother had left on his face._

 _Tiredly, he sighs._

 _When he turns to face his son, Edward can clearly see the damage to the lower half of his eyelid and he startles. He didn't know nails could do that. Not even sharp nails, like his mother's._

" _It's okay." His father ruffles his hair, trying to reassure him. "Just be smart, okay? Choose wisely, bud. Don't be like your old man."_

"Daddy?"

The Doc's hand tightens around his.

 _Drip. . ._

 _Slam!_

 _Drip. . ._

 _Slam!_

 _Drip. . ._

 _Slam!_

 _The blood._

 _The door._

 _The blood._

 _The door._

 _It's all he can see and hear for a while - it distracts him from his father's words of wisdom, but eventually he hears them._

 _Pointing a finger at his face, his father says sternly, "Be very careful when selecting a wife, Edward._ _ **VERY**_ _careful. You don't want to end up like this."_


	42. Chapter 42

"Your father?" The Doc asks as they walk barefoot along the beach together. It had been her idea to take a break from house hunting and go for a walk to clear his head, leaving that overly perky - and overly nosy - real estate agent behind.

The sand squishing between his toes feels wonderful. Warm. It's working its magic. But, that doesn't mean he wants to talk about it.

 _Sitting on the bed with his father and watching the blood drip from his ear had been one of Edward's earliest memories. They had spent the following day at home playing word games while his mother worked. After his father called in "sick" to work for the day, he turned to Edward, chuckling and saying with a wink, "Can't let the guys see what that minx did to me."_

" _Why not?_

" _Oh, don't worry about it, little buddy. I just said something I shouldn't have and ticked her off, is all."_

 _Edward tilted his head to the side. He didn't have to be a genius to understand that NONE of this was his father's fault, no matter how many times he would excuse her behavior by saying that it was._

 _Edward came to realize that his mother was just mean. . . when she wasn't cold._

 _But that day - and the following one - Edward and his dad had fun together. His father was a great wit - and Edward was a fast learner. It was easy to make him proud just trying to follow in his clever footsteps._

"I've never heard you talk about your father. . ." The Doc says carefully after her original inquiry had been greeted with silence.

"And I haven't heard you talk about yours, either," he says defensively. Although Leslie seemed to have no trouble talking about him.

"Touche."

He doesn't press her further because he doesn't want to be pressed further himself.

"Just what is it about house hunting that's getting to you, Edward? You've been getting more and more agitated as the process moves along."

Nastily, he says, "We're not getting married and I'm tired of everyone here thinking that we are."

"Okay then," The Doc says, taken aback. "I didn't know that."

"Well, now you do," he says frowning as he walks ahead of her.

But she catches up to him and places a hand on his back. "Hey, we can stop the charade if you want. We don't have to play along with their assumptions anymore."

" _Please,_ " he says, keeping his eyes averted.

"But . . . what is it that bothers you so much about the thought of get getting married? We promised to never leave each other. I don't understand how letting people assume -"

He stops walking and glares at her.

"What?"

"It needs to stop," he says firmly.

He doesn't realize he's shaking until she notices it.

Solemnly, she takes his hand to steady him.

"Hey, we don't ever have to get married," she says, seemingly understanding his anxiety despite his reticence. "We're already committed to each other. We don't need to make it official."

He lets out a deep breath he didn't know he was holding before letting his forehead fall onto hers. "Promise?"

"Yes," she says, pulling away from him, a bit of mirth in her eyes. "Edward Nygma, I vow NEVER to marry you."

A diamond ring with two small emeralds flashes before his eyes. He had seen it on a beach just like this in a dream long ago . . .

He squints, trying to keep sight of it as it fades away.

"What?" The Doc asks, following his gaze, looking behind her.

"Oh, nothing. Just . . . thank you." He cups her cheek to turn her back to face him. Then he leans down to kiss her and says, "Dr. Leslie Thompkins, I promise I'll never marry _you_ either."

She chuckles in response.

But the more he thinks about it, the more he's sure it's a vow he won't be able to keep even though the thought of marriage terrifies him. Because if she's willing. . .

But she won't be - he knows that deep in his heart. She won't stay. He'll mess up somehow and she'll take off - he's not good enough for her or anyone else - it's only a matter of time. So, he just wants to enjoy this while it lasts. As he'd promised, he has no intentions of leaving her . . . until she wants him to. And unfortunately, that day _will_ come.

"Get some drinks?" she asks.

"Sure."

Even though he tries to fight it, that ring ends up haunting him for the rest of the day . . . dancing in and out of his vision like a mirage.


	43. Chapter 43

The first night that Edward awakens in the new house - they had ended up choosing the cream colored one in Beachview after all - he had been emerging from a dream that seemed deceptively pleasant at first.

When it started, he found himself standing in front of the stove watching something bake that smelled like Christmas, but that wasn't what was pleasant. His mother's attention was so hard to come by and for once, her hand was on his head - just placed there - like it always was when he had done something well. It was rare indeed that he was ever able to please her, but he craved it. That day, he looked up at her, but could only see her profile.

But then before he had a chance to savor that fleeting moment, his dream morphed into the memory of her leaving him in the vestibule. In profile, she looked ashamed - he can see that now. Why was she ashamed of him? What had he done?

His stomach twists anxiously as he frantically tries to figure it out.

And he wakes up clutching it, moaning as he sits up in bed.

"Hey, you okay?" The Doc murmurs in her drunken haze. She would drink so much nowadays that it clung to her even in sleep.

"No," he answers honestly.

She sits bolt upright in bed. "Talk to me."

"My father. . ." He's having a difficult time picking something that sounds good - something that will allow him to take solace in her without revealing too much.

"What about him?" She starts rubbing his back, her hands uncoordinated due to drink - but she's trying.

"One Christmas," Edward begins. "My parents were having a Christmas party that started way past my bedtime. But, I stayed up for it anyway."

"Of course you did, you little devil." She gives him a sloppy kiss.

"I spied on them and their friends. Mom was perched on Dad's lap and laughing appreciatively at his every joke. Kissing him, even. I hadn't remembered ever seeing them kiss before. I was very young.

My mother said to her friends, 'Do you see why I married this man?'

Many of them answered in the affirmative.

She lovingly stroked his hair and tapped her finger against his chin and said, 'Hours, no, YEARS of entertainment!'

Dad enjoyed her praise as much as I did. And he was quite entertaining. I had to cover my mouth many times to squash my giggles whenever I understood one of his jokes that evening. Most of them were over my head, though. Mom praised him for his wit when he would deliver a particularly complex one - usually some kind of word play - like a riddle.

Watching them, I learned what my mom liked. What might get her attention."

Edward stops.

"And?" The Doc asks, but he's lost in a memory.

 _The party is over and his parents are in the kitchen arguing._

' _How could you, Nash? Embarrassing me like that?'_

' _I didn't mean to. I had no idea that would bother you or I never would have -'_

 _Neither had Edward. What had Daddy done? His parents had both seemed so happy with each other just minutes earlier as the last guest left._

' _Now, I have to live that down. You are a social disaster, do you know that?'_

' _Eliza, I'm sorry -'_

 _SLAP!_

 _Her hand rakes across his face as Edward gasps from his hiding place in the cupboard._

' _Sorry isn't good enough.'_

"Edward? Edward?!" The Doc is shaking him, bringing him back to the present. She sighs and hugs him tight as he does. "We lost you again for a moment, didn't we?"

"Yeah."

He decides not to say any more and just hugs her back.


	44. Chapter 44

"Ugh," Edward groans and leans against the doorjamb one fine Saturday morning after the marine layer has lifted and sunlight streams into the room that he and Lee have been working on.

"What is it?" She asks.

"Tabby," Edward answers. "She won't stop pestering me about coming back to Gotham right away so we can get revenge for Cyrus."

"Cyrus?" Lee asks. "Who's Cyrus?"

Shit.

He watches Lee place Pooky Bear on the single bed and then reach for Pokey Bear.

"Here, I'll get that," Edward says and walks over to the bed, gently taking Pokey Bear from her, trying to stem the flow of stuffing from underneath one of his arms. "Take a seat."

"What is it?" Lee asks worriedly after he sits down beside her on the bed and carefully places Pokey Bear into the arms of the elder Pooky Bear.

The bed they are sitting on is covered with a yellow patterned bedspread - which the two bears look absolutely hideous against - complete with a white ruffle. The headboard of the bed is also white and it has soft curving accents carved into it that are made to be pleasing to a young girl's eye. So, yes, the bears _do_ belong there - even if they don't match it.

"Do you remember the other one?" Edward asks, taking her hand. "In the other tank?"

"With Kristen?"

Edward nods.

"Yes, but I never saw it."

"I did," he says gravely.

"When?" Lee asks, incredulous. "Wait. Did this happen during the trip you just took back to Gotham?"

Edward nods. "Yes, and the boy looked as if he was in primary school already."

"What? It's only been months."

"I know."

"Rapid growth . . ." Lee muses.

"Yes," Edward says. "Gross mutations on chromosome 11. The boy had already had several tumors removed. Strange was only planning to use Kristen and Cyrus short term."

"How do you know? If Strange was removing his tumors -"

"Let me show you something," Edward says and pulls up a small screen showing security footage he had recently found from Strange's facility detailing his and Tabby's escape. And, Cyrus' death.

He watches Lee carefully as she views the footage. She takes in an odd breath when Cyrus' third eye opens, jumps involuntarily when fire shoots from it, and just stares in horror as Tabby's baby disintegrates into a white goo.

The hand Lee raises to her mouth is shaking fiercely as Edward puts the screen away.

" _This_ is what would have happened to our baby?" Lee asks, horrified.

Edward nods solemnly and pulls her in for a nice tight hug. She's begun to cry. He puts his head upon hers and rocks her gently, contemplating the room they are in.

Fanciful yellow and white wallpaper to match the bedspread that they are sitting on had been hung first - before they had worked on the rest of it. Against one wall is a little girl's vanity, complete with a princess mirror and a bubbly pink brush on top. Kristen had had long hair - she would have needed a good brush. The dresser that matches the vanity sits out in the hallway, their project abandoned for now while they grieve for their daughter in the room that she will never have.


	45. Chapter 45

"Okay, everyone, I know it's the first day of rehearsals, but I've invited all of your classmates that aren't sick, your teachers, Cook Jean, and Dr. Thompkins -" he resists the urge to wink at her "- here to watch us all today because right off the bat I'd like us to work on any nerves that might cause stage fright and we need as large an audience as possible to do that."

Edward goes on to explain what stage fright is exactly and different techniques to combat it, emphasizing that each individual may experience it differently or not at all. Also, he wants everyone to know that there is no shame in it - it's a natural reaction to performing in front of a crowd, whether one is acting, speaking, dancing, and so on.

"And . . . I will be here to help coach you through it," Edward says with a smile. "Right here - waiting in the wings."

He points stage left with his staff and then steps out of sight. He calls on the lead, a girl named Lila, just like his former assistant, to take her place onstage and read a passage from his primary school version of _Paradise Lost_ \- specifically the speech he had written of Satan's lament to God after being defeated and cast down into the burning lake with the other devils.

Edward has already coached a few girls through their stage jitters successfully and is reassured that he's made excellent choices in casting the leads - their performances are already good enough that they should only require a little polish compared to the others who will need much more.

But then Jujubee comes up to the stage to read a speech of Belial's - his argument, really - with Satan's other devils during their debate over whether or not to attack Heaven. Jujubee is as white as a sheet - paler than even her ghost blonde hair - and she looks like she's going to faint. The script shakes violently in her hands. Edward smiles and nods encouragingly at her from the wings, but it doesn't do any good because soon a deep blush creeps up her neck, over her face and all the way into her hairline. She's turned from alabaster to lobster red within seconds.

Jujubee drops her script and bolts for the wings, running to him, grabbing him by the elbows, and begging him not to make her do this.

"Hey, hey. Shh, shh," Edward says, trying to be soothing.

Jujubee has just burst into loud, sloppy, tears and there's no way that some people in the audience aren't hearing her.

Very quietly he says, "There's nothing to cry about. This happens. It's _okay._ You don't have to do this if you don't want to."

"Okay," she says, nodding and sniffing, her tears miraculously drying up once she realizes she's off the hook. She gives him an 'I'm okay' smile.

"You know . . . you did try out for this play." Edward tries to be encouraging. "If you really do want to do this, I can help you with your stage fri -"

The girl looks terrified and starts backing away from him, shaking her head.

"It's okay, Jujubee. You don't have to if you don't want to."

"You mean it?"

"Yes."

He lets her go.

Now to re-cast Belial. . .

"Before you all leave, I'd like to hold auditions for the newly available part of Belial. Please come up to the stage even if you have already auditioned - this is your second chance - you don't want to miss it. Also, I notice that some of you in the audience -" Edward looks pointedly at Dini "- did not get the chance to audition the first time around. So please, make sure to do so this time."

And to his delight, with a little nudge from Lee, he notices that Dini joins the others with him onstage.

"Okay, girls." As Edward motions for the seven girls who have come to the stage to move closer, he notices that the two girls on either side of Dini are trying to nudge her out. He reaches out and stops that in its tracks. "There's room for _everyone._ Now, Belial is a slimy character. Think of the slimiest politician you know."

" _Penguin."_

" _Yeah, that guy was mayor of Gotham - AND a criminal."_

" _I think his name was Copper Pot?"_

" _No, it was The Penguin."_

Edward puts up his hands. "No. Not him."

" _Oh."_

" _Okay."_

"Perhaps think of someone more like Theo Galavan . . . or better yet, someone not from Gotham City at all."

" _Okay."_

" _Sure."_

" _That Galavan guy was pretty shady."_

" _I never liked him."_

" _Copper Pot was kinda cute though."_

" _I heard he loved his mother. So much."_

There are collective sighs from amongst the orphan girls. Except . . . Well, Dini hadn't sighed at all. In fact, she looks kind of bored.

What? Does she not care for Oswald?

"Okay, yes. Oswald Cobblepot aside, think of how a politician gets into your good graces by behaving falsely. Sometimes, beneath it all, who they really are is so strong no matter what front they put up it is still obvious that something is there. Lurking. And that, girls, is this character. You'll want to keep that in mind while auditioning."

Probably too complex for primary school girls, but he figures that perhaps some of them can take that direction and run with it - and he is not disappointed.

Dini takes the stage after the fifth girl, script in hand. She does not fiddle or falter in the slightest as she begins to read Belial's speech.

" _Don't you remember that it was Hell that provided us shelter when we fled Heaven's attack?"_

Her hand does a 'thing.' Edward can only really interpret it as a 'politician thing.'

" _And how can you all forget the burning lake? Isn't where we are now - Hell - better than that? You see, my friends, things could be worse."_

Most of that is delivered with her hand held out as if in a question before being firmly placed on her hip with a knowing nod. Is Dini even reading the script? Her eyes have been up the whole time.

" _Attack heaven? Phah!"_ Dini pauses for just the right amount of time before continuing. " _I say . . . Why rock the boat?"_

She gives a little flourish at the end, followed by a saccharine smile. A six-year-old's interpretation of "slimy."

And it is fantastic.

He gives Dini the part. . .

. . . the part she has earned.


	46. Chapter 46

Later that night, Edward pores over the data that he had extracted from Strange's facility in Gotham. What were his daughter's weaknesses? Why had Strange decided that she was inferior to Cyrus? Why had she died while _he_ had lived? What had been different?

Edward wants to pull his hair out . . . he can't find anything.

"Eddie?" he hears Leslie's little girl voice at the door to his home office.

"Come in," he says, barely looking up.

"What'ya doing?" she asks as she settles herself into the other office chair by his side and starts to swivel it back and forth. She even gives it a full spin - like a record - before he answers her.

"I'm trying to figure out what was wrong with Kristin," he grumbles. "Why Strange -"

Leslie interrupts him, ceasing her swiveling to place a hand on his forearm. "There was nothing wrong with Baby Kristen."

"There was too something wrong with her!" Edward throws the pen he had been chewing incessantly down onto the desk harshly. "Why else would he have killed her?"

"Because he's mean," Leslie says simply.

"Mean?!?"

"Yeah, he's not a nice man."

"That's a bit too simplistic, Leslie."

"No, it's not."

"Yes, it -"

"Nope! He's mean. End of story."

"Well, I'm a mean man," Edward argues. "Do you think I would just indiscriminately kill a child?"

"You're a villain, Eddie, that's true. But you're not mean."

"You don't know what you're talking about," he says dismissively.

"Why did Scotch pick on you and Ryan that day?"

"I don't know," Edward says, thinking back to his time in school. "We stepped into his turf or something stupid like that."

"Yes, you see. Something meaningless."

"I don't follow."

"He had no reason to dislike you - either of you."

"Well, he didn't like me because the other kids picked on me."

"That's not a real reason."

"Sure it is."

Leslie sighs impatiently. "It's a reason that only supports what I've already told you. Scotch was _mean._ There was no other valid reason for him to pick on you."

Edward crosses his arms and looks down at her sternly.

"You know it's the truth," Leslie says, unintimidated. "And it's the same with Kristen. That mean scientist had no reason to kill her. He just did."

"I can't accept that."

"Well, you're going to have to," she says, defiantly lifting her chin. "'Cause it's the truth."

"Just like I'm a villain, yet still somehow a nice guy?"

"I never said you were a nice guy, Eddie. I just said you weren't mean."

"I'm plenty mea -"

Leslie puts up a finger to interrupt him. "Let me ask you a question, Eddie? Okay?"

"Okay."

"How did you feel when other kids would pick on you?"

"What do you mean?" Edward asks defensively. "I didn't like it if that's what you're insinuating."

"Oh, Eddie, you're such a dork." Leslie laughs. "Always using such big words."

"Hey, I'm all grown up now. I can use big words."

"And what else can you do now that you're all grown up?"

Edward thinks about that. The answer is a lot of things.

"What do you do when someone hurts you now?" Leslie asks. "Or someone you care about?"

Briefly, Edward fantasizes about wiping that smug smile right off of Hugo Strange's face and seeing true fear in its place. Fear of _him_. Sneering, he answers, "I kill them."

"Why?"

"What do you mean why? Because -"

"WHY are you able to kill so easily now that you're all grown up?"

"Because I'm a villain. People expect me to -"

"You're no longer helpless, powerless. . ." Leslie's last word trails off as his mind absorbs it.

She leans in and hugs him tightly.

"It's okay, Eddie. You're not mean. You don't hurt others for no reason."

But he has - Leslie just doesn't know it for some reason. But Lee and The Doc do. He knows they're right there, listening in . . . so why don't they correct her?

"Eddie, you've only grown up to be a villain because you refuse to be a victim anymore. This is your way. And that's okay."

Power . . . he does these things for power. Not for power over others, but to maintain power over himself so that others won't dare hurt him.

Damn, Little Leslie is insightful.

"What were we talking about again?" Edward asks as he pulls away from her hug, scratching his head.

"That Hugo Strange is a righteous dick for killing our child." Somehow The Doc had taken control without him noticing. "And that I need a stiff drink after that conversation."

Edward just sits there, staring at his desk for a while after The Doc leaves, lost in a memory.

" _Track six, now seven," Edward claps his hands together softly in joy as the seventh - and last - song plays on the record player once again. He knows all the words to the song by heart and is singing them to himself quietly._

 _He doesn't notice his mother standing over him until he hears the rustle of a Christmas tree ornament against the branches. Her apron is shoved into it. It looks like it's going to fall . . ._

" _Mommy, watch out!" Edward cries out, instinctively reaching for it, but her hand catches his in a firm, painful grip before he can._

" _Never mind that!" she snaps. "Have you been listening to a word I've been saying?"_

" _You've been talking?" he asks incredulously._

" _Don't get smart with me," she says._

 _Wait? Doesn't she want him to be smart?_

" _Turn it off," she commands and points at -_

 _No! Not the record player!_

" _But there's one more song -"_

" _TURN IT OFF!"_

" _I have to finish it. I need to -"_

 _She kicks the arm and the needle scratches over the last song and into the paper label._

" _NO!" Edward screeches and recovers it. There's now a scrape across a good portion of track seven, but - "I've gotta finish the record. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. SEVEN."_

 _He puts the arm back in place - right where it had been kicked off the track._

" _Don't you_ **dare** _defy me, Edward."_

" _But I have to finish it! There's only one more song to go." Tears blur his view of his mother. But she never looks at him anyway, so what does it matter?_

 _The next thing he knows, he's being lifted off of the ground - mainly by her nails._

 _. . . In his ear._

" _Owww!"_

" _You've got three seconds to turn that damned music off! I can't believe that you listen to that evil noise over and over and over. It's driving me mad!"_

 _She drops him to the floor and he scrambles to turn off the record player._

" _One. Two. Thr -"_

 _The music is off._

" _Good boy," his mother says, smiling in a way that his adult self now knows is smug._

 _He's safe. She won't hurt him like she does Daddy because he always obeys her - even if he tries to reason with her first. And he tries so hard to never say the wrong thing. Ever. But then, he slips up. . ._

 _Edward lifts his chin and says to her defiantly, "Why should_ **I** _get in trouble?_ **You** _listen to_ **your** _music over and over, too. Just one song at a t -"_

 _And then his face is slapped so hard it is dizzying. In fact, he falls to the floor and as he tries to move his legs, which aren't responding for some reason, he feels her pick him up from the floor, toss him into his room, and lock it behind her._

 _That was the first time he had ever stood up to her. And it would be his last._

 _It was just after that Christmas that he started to fall ill and he just didn't have the strength - not even to stand up for his father, the one who did most of the tending to him once he became ill._

 _He had been too much of a burden for his mother._

 _Far too much._

Back then, attempting to fight her hadn't worked for him. As a child, he had had no power over his own destiny and once he had gotten sick, he was thrown away like the trash. He has no intentions of _ever_ losing the control he has now - even if he has to be evil in order to do so.

 _It is better to rule in Hell than to serve in Heaven._

He and John Milton's Satan certainly have at least one thing in common. He wipes away a bit of the wetness that has formed in the corner of his eyes, shuts off the light in his office, and heads downstairs.


	47. Chapter 47

"What are we having?" he asks The Doc.

"I was figuring a wine spritzer with a vodka chaser," she answers.

"Interesting," he replies, playing along with her intoxicated madness, strumming his fingers along his chin thoughtfully. "But might I suggest we try something a little harder?"

"What do you have in mind?" she asks as he removes the glass from her hand.

"This," he answers, pressing against her. The hardness in his pants is unmistakable.

"Oooh, I like that," she purrs, reaching down to undo his belt buckle.

So does he. They haven't done this since he returned from Gotham. It's been _far_ too long.

Her fingers easily slip his slacks off of his hips and they pool about his ankles. Before he knows it his underwear joins them and then her lips. . .

"Aaah . . . _mmm._ "

"Was that a sigh or a moan?" she asks sardonically, breaking away from his cock.

"Does it matter?" he practically whines. "Don't stop. _Please. . ._ "

One side of her lips quirk up for just a second before they find their rightful place back upon his cock. She leaves lipstick stains along it - dark ones - as they traverse up and down its shaft. Her eyes are doe-like as she looks up at him and he feels like melting from the intense pleasure that she is giving him. His legs start to shake. He's not sure he can hold himself upright - even gripping his staff.

She takes a firm hand to the back of his scarred thigh and holds him there, upright, as she begins to move even more vigorously up and down his shaft.

Fuck.

He squeezes his eyes shut. It's too early. He can't let himself give in to the pleasure. Not just yet. But it's been so long . . .

Somehow, she's walked him backwards and pressed him against the bar for balance, no longer holding him up by the thigh. When did that happen?

And now that hand finds its way slowly, ever so slowly between his thighs and cups . . .

"Doc," her name is released from his lips in a heated whisper. He's not sure he can last.

"I know," she answers, and changes tactics.

Removing her hand, instead she grabs his shaft firmly and strokes it as her tongue swirls over his head. Every time he looks down at her and sees her looking back up at him he wants to -

"No," she says. Every time.

And every time she somehow stops his orgasm.

It is torture.

"That's enough," he says finally.

"What is?" she asks innocently with her doe-eyes peeking over his freely bobbing cock.

"You need to be fucked," he says. "Righteously."

Before she can say a word, he's got her turned around, and finds his way to his knees, behind her. Her wrap skirt comes off so easily.

So do her panties.

He touches her, feels her soft wetness. Penetrates her with one finger. . . then two.

"Edward, FUCK," she exclaims as he finds just the right spot to torture her.

He brings her near climax and then pulls away, calmly waiting as she pants and tries to recover. And then he starts again. Over and over. Making her wait. Making her WANT.

She is so fucking wet.

But not so wet that he can't feel the strong grip of her around his cock when he finally does give her what she wants and plunges into her. Deep. He can get so fucking deep inside of her at this angle.

She screams in pleasure as he pulls her up by the hair.

Now it's his turn to pant. Roughly. Into her ear. Misting the side of her face with his hot breath. He can vividly see the lipstick smeared all over her mouth from when her lips had been on his cock. She tightens around him, as if she's remembering the same thing. He bites her ear.

"Edward, please," she begs as he feels her getting even wetter, streaming down his cock and over his sack. "I'm so close."

"No," he says, firmly in control. "Absolutely not."

He slows his pace to almost nothing and when she arches underneath him in frustration, groaning, but not daring to beg with words, he thrusts hard.

And then again. And again.

His hand wraps around her neck and tightens as he fucks her so very hard.

"Are you ready?" he growls. "For me to come?"

She can only nod, his hand is so tight.

He releases it.

"Then I need you to beg for it, Doc. Fucking _beg_ for it." She moans as he brings his lips to ear, whispering deliciously, "And I need you to come harder for me than you've ever come before."

That's all she needs to hear. The next thing he knows, she's screaming and bucking against him. He grabs her hips tight and pounds into her as fast as she can take it. She's coming so fucking hard the floor is getting wet.

"Fuck, Edward COME! FUCKING COME!"

And then the floodgates open. His eyes shut tight and he groans and growls like a beast as he delivers his final thrusts into her warm, pulsating wetness.

Beneath him she shakes as he collapses on top of her, spent.


	48. Chapter 48

The following day Edward does not hold rehearsals for the girls - it's a study day for him. He's spent the majority of it in the lab at the school creating various inks to match the inks on the plethora of documents that Oswald had given him. Once he completely masters this, there will be so much here for Oswald. Gotham won't be cinders forever, and when it rises from the ashes, its history will be rewritten. Bruce Wayne won't be the only billionaire in town. Edward smiles gleefully, marveling at how much financial shuffling of a city's wealth one can achieve just by changing information on various property deeds that have been filed with the city. The city even holds deeds for the greater Gotham area - including those outside of it that have remained untouched by Jeremiah's flames and have retained their value.

Oswald is going to be quite pleased with him for expanding his empire. When all is said and done, it will be staggering. Can William do that for him? Edward thinks not.

So, with that thought, he caps his inks, packs up the documents he was using for practice into his briefcase, and heads home. He greets Miles on the dock with a wave. Miles is the fisherman that Edward and Lee have put on permanent retainer to sail them back and forth from Driftwood Island. Each day, they pay him wages that are better than any day of fishing could possibly earn him, so he no longer fishes, just remains on standby at their beck and call, enjoying the good life that a career made mostly of leisure affords one.

After Edward steps aboard, he looks below deck and notices that the cabin is littered with books.

"Did you have to let out some ballast for that?" Edward jokes. "Your collection is getting to be quite impressive."

"Well, sir, now that I have time to read like a Gothamite, I do!" Miles smiles. "It's wonderful, really wonderful."

"Do you miss the fish?"

"I do," Miles says and nods as he ducks into the wheelhouse. Before starting up, he pokes his head out and says to Edward, "But when I miss them bad enough, I just go fishin' and wait for you or Doc Thompkins to call. I can always drop what I'm doing, but I usually have enough time to take in one or two hauls. Keeps me vital, you know?"

The engine comes to life as if to punctuate his sentiment.

"Yes," Edward answers, nodding and thinking of The Riddle Factory and how it makes him feel alive. It's a part of him that he has no plans of giving up, not even living down here.

* * *

As he lets himself into his house in Beachview, Edward hears two female voices shout from the kitchen, "Surprise!"

"Wha -?"

Dini comes running into the foyer where he's just started to set his briefcase down.

"I'll take that," she says, taking it out of his hands and disappearing somewhere in the back of the house, hopefully his office.

Lee comes to the door of the kitchen wearing an apron.

Not a white coat, not a stethoscope, but a dark pink scalloped apron.

"Lee. . . ?"

"I figured I'd play housewife for the day," she says and shrugs.

Edward looks warily at the yellow coated spatula she's got in her hand. It's recently been in something. . .

Lee sees his look and laughs. "Your birthday cake."

"My, what -?"

"Happy Un-Birthday, Mr. Nygma!" Dini screeches as she comes flying back into the room. He's never seen her so wound up before - or so happy. She's always seemed . . . well. . . generally miserable.

"Well, at least one of you has it right," Edward says, ruffling her hair. "Today is not my birthday."

"No, decidedly not," Lee answers then laughs. "Come back into the kitchen, Dini. You get to put the bees on the cake."

"YAY!" Dini flies into the kitchen and takes something out of Lee's hand. Then she disappears from sight.

"Lee, what is going on?" Edward asks her quietly as she walks towards him.

"I don't know," she says, and frowns a little, stepping up to him and using her free hand to fuss with his jacket unnecessarily. "I just wanted to try the nuclear family thing for a day. Is there anything wrong with that?"

"I don't know, Lee . . . perhaps the fact that you kidnapped a CHILD to act out your little fantasy?"

Lee just laughs at him as if she doesn't have a care in the world and bops his nose lightly with the spatula.

 _Eeew._


	49. Chapter 49

Edward follows Lee into the kitchen, expecting to find madness. Instead, he only finds a little girl, content with adorning a yellow cake with little plastic bees.

"The bees were her idea," Lee says proudly. "We picked them up on the way home from school."

"Yes!" Dini says. "I told Dr. Thompkins, 'Mr. Nygma can't have just a plain yellow cake.' It would be as boring as this cream-colored house."

Edward smiles inwardly at that. Yes, he never liked the cream color - the house would be much nicer if it was a cheery yellow like the cake Lee and Dini have made for him.

But . . . Lee mentioned after school. They've been here all this time?

"Shouldn't you still be at the clinic?" Wait. He just thought of something that would explain everything. " . . . Leslie."

"You can call me Lee," she says and gives him a firm look.

Okay, so that's not the problem. What the hell is going on here?

"Edward, I'm not at the clinic this afternoon because there's been more pressing matters to attend to."

"Oh?"

"Done!" Dini yelps in excitement, raising her hands in triumph. The bees are on the cake. It is done.

Lee walks over to the little girl and wraps an arm around her shoulders. "This little one must be supervised. Overnight."

"What?"

Looking down at Dini, he sees what Kristen could have been. They both had Lee's black hair and Dini shared his own goofy big ears and glasses look. But Dini had green eyes, sharp ones - and Kristen's had been dark. She was not their child. He knew Lee still grieved for their little girl, but this kind of displacement -

"I'll explain it to you in more detail later tonight. When The Doc is in, okay?"

Edward nods. Lee comes over to kiss him on the cheek. "And now for Mr. Edward Nygma's Un-Birthday party!"

"YAY!"

* * *

The "party" had been pleasant, and he had learned some useful things. One, Lee had been coaching Dini and dozens of girls in the lower grades on their lines for the play.

"Edward," Lee had admonished. "You can't expect girls of age six or seven to be able to read that script."

"But I simplified it for them!" he had protested.

"Yes," Lee agreed. "But the youngest girls here just can't read at that level."

He had given her an odd look.

"Look, Mr. Smartie Pants, not everyone can read by age four -"

Actually, it was three. He had his father's infinite patience to thank for that - or so he'd been told. He doesn't remember a time when he couldn't do the basics like reading.

"- and these girls have been through a lot. Abandonment. Neglect. Abuse."

At that, Dini had excused herself from the table. As she brushed past him, Edward could see a new scrape on her forehead that someone had obviously tried to cover up.

"Hey," he had said, stopping her. "What happened to your forehead?"

She looked like a deer caught in the headlights.

"Edward." He heard the warning tone in what had become The Doc's voice, and realized it must be late enough for them to make the switch. As he had turned around to face her, she said firmly, "You and I will discuss that _later_."

And now it _is_ later.

Dini is on their couch playing a game on the big screen in the living room. Yes, in her madness, Lee had bought her one on the way home from school. But the little girl is so absorbed in the loud game that the adults can talk without really being heard.

"Okay, Doc, what the hell is going on? Why did Lee bring that girl here?"

"I wasn't just Lee. We both did."

"Oh." Edward thinks about that for a second. "Why?"

"We had our reasons. . ."

Edward stays silent, waiting, knowing by the tone of her voice that she'll continue.

"God, I need a drink." She sighs and looks over at Dini. "But I should wait."

"Wise move," Edward says.

"Okay, here's the deal. That girl's insulin pump keeps getting its tubing dislocated and she can't figure out how to put it back in herself - she's too young just yet. Here, let me show you. Dini!" She yells over to her and the girl stops her game. "Come on over here so I can show Mr. Nygma how your pump works."

Edward is fascinated by the mechanism and easily learns how to reattach the tubing under The Doc's guidance.

"Good," The Doc says. "Who knows when you'll need that."

Dini returns to her game with joy.

"Tonight?" he asks.

"Possibly," The Doc answers matter-of-factly. "That's why she's here."

"So, we're keeping an eye on her in case her tubing comes loose in the middle of the night?"

"Yes, that's precisely it. We're keeping her here for observation. It's nicer here than sending her to that horrid hospital down in Sandy Point. And besides, she wouldn't know anyone there - "

"I get it," Edward interrupts. "So, what's with all this nuclear family and baking stuff though?"

"We wanted Dini to have a nice sugar-free treat for once."

"I don't understand. You guys made that cake for _me_. Wait. It was sugar-free?" he asks, astonished.

"Of course - Dini's diabetic. Remember my little one told you that we got really good at fending for ourselves after our mother died? And that includes baking." She winks. "The cake was ostensibly for you, but it was really for all of us. You have to admit, that little nuclear family moment was nice, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," Edward answers, stroking her shoulder a bit, his strong desire to have children with her coming to the forefront of his thoughts quite suddenly and without warning . . . and only serving to make him sad. Not being able to do that was a great disappointment in his life that he'd just have to bear. Because it was what **she** had wanted.


	50. Chapter 50

"Edward, calm down," The Doc says, her third drink of the night in hand - she had downed the other two only minutes before.

"I'm not going to calm down," he says. "How can you expect me to calm down?"

She tries to stop his rapid pacing in the living room - the tip of his staff is going to dig holes in the carpet as he takes his anger out on it - but she doesn't succeed. As he breaks away from her, she says, "Look, all she ever tells me is that it's everyone. 'Everyone' is hurting her."

"So?"

"Edward, I know you're out for blood. I can see it. And just because she told me that she got injured this time because she got that part in your play doesn't mean I'm any closer to knowing who's doing this to her."

"Work harder," Edward snarls. "Both of you."

"Well, Lee does spend more time with her overall," The Doc says almost despondently and then downs her drink.

As she's pouring herself another one, Edward is still fuming. The Doc had told him that Lee had covered up the scrape on Dini's forehead with makeup in an attempt to make her feel better and that the two of them AND Leslie had finally gotten that last piece of information from her as they were tucking her in for the night.

Edward is pissed that someone is hurting Dini, that Lee had tried to cover it up, and that all three of them had taken turns tucking her into bed. It hadn't even been worth the risk - they had only uncovered the most insignificant piece of information. What the hell had she - they - been thinking? All of them coming to the front in turn like that? Leslie in particular shouldn't be interacting with her.

Ugh. He wants to fight with The Doc, but even more, he wants the kid that's hurting that poor, innocent child dead - whoever it is.

"Uh oh," The Doc says, seemingly able to read his mind. "We don't have another Tom Dougherty situation here, do we?"

Edward flinches upon hearing the name of the man who had abused his beloved Miss Kringle. He just growls.

"Edward, you can't!" The Doc says in a panic.

"I can't what? Kill whatever psychopath is harming Dini?"

"The person who's harming her is most likely a child."

"Or children," he says.

"Exactly. We can't have you going around taking out kids."

"But Officer Dougherty -" Edward's voice involuntarily reverts back to the more nasally, timid tone that had dominated it back when he worked at the GCPD.

"Is gone. Dead. You killed him," The Doc says firmly. "This is a different situation."

"If you say so."

"You can't kill a bunch of innocent childr -"

"They're not innocent," Edward protests, remembering the kids in the cancer ward of his youth, fantasizing about snuffing out their lives one by one. Before the cancer got them. Some abusers deserved to -

"Edward," The Doc says, his head firmly in her hands, bringing him back. "NO."

"But -"

"Dini wouldn't want that."

"She wouldn't?"

"No. Trust me."

"Doesn't she want her torment to end?" Edward knew that Kristen Kringle had. She had been pleased when Tom had "left," thanks to him.

"Yes, but not this way." The Doc's heavy red lipstick smears onto his lips, his cheek. Then she breathes, "Trust me."

He plunges his hand deep into her hair, pulling her lips to his for a series of kisses before guiding her back to the staircase, her feet on his toes, as if in a dance. With his staff to guide them, it is graceful, gliding. For once, it feels as if he is leading her, just for that brief moment. But it is only an illusion . . .

When they stop at the foot of the staircase, she asks, "Do you want to say goodnight? Since you were talking to Oswald when I put her down?"

"Sure," Edward replies, the fleeting moment gone. He takes The Doc's proffered hand, letting her lead him up the stairs. By the time they get to Kristen's room, the yellow one, The Doc puts a silencing finger over her lips and they creep silently to the half-open doorway together. Edward wraps his arms about her waist and rests his chin on her shoulder as they both peer in.

Little Dini is tucked in nice and tight under the yellow bedspread they had procured for their dead daughter, both Pooky Bear and Pokey Bear caught up in her little arms. They dwarf her in her slumber.

Dini had glanced about, confused when she first saw the room.

" _I thought you two didn't have kids."_

" _We don't. Not anymore."_

With that exchange of words, Dini's inquiry into that solemn chapter of their lives had been closed to her - at least for now. But it was forever open to Edward and The Doc. As they stare at the dark-haired girl in Kristen's bed, The Doc pulls Edward's arms around herself even tighter and whispers a forlorn, "What if. . .?"

His only response is a few tears that make it down his cheek and onto her bare shoulder. Eventually, they close the door.

Despite Edward slipping into peaceful dreams of a family life he knows he will never have, it is not a peaceful night. Shortly after he and The Doc have made love and fallen asleep, piercing screams ring out through the night, followed by pleading.

Edward sits bolt upright in bed. The Doc doesn't stir - she's had too much drink.

The pleading is followed by crying.

Dini.

Edward scrambles out of bed and races as fast as he can down the hallway to see what's going on.


	51. Chapter 51

When he gets to the door of Kristen's yellow room, he can clearly hear Dini inside, crying, screaming, pleading.

"Mommy no! Please don't let him . . . _Stop!_ "

A quick peek inside verifies that no one who could possibly be her mother is inside the room. It confirms his suspicion that Dini's just having a nightmare - she's not being attacked in the waking world. He sits down carefully at the side of her bed, careful not to jostle and wake her. He takes her hand.

That's what The Doc would always do to get him through his nightmares. Oh. . . In that very moment he realizes that it was always her.

"Dini, sweetheart," he whispers as he trails his fingers gently over the part of her forehead that isn't injured. "Wake up."

"No, no," she thrashes away from him. "I don't want the hot. Stop!"

This is followed by more screams and then soft crying. Damn, they were supposed to have this child under observation, but The Doc hadn't even stirred. She was too inebriated. What was he supposed to do if something went seriously wrong?

Eventually, she awakens and blinks her eyes twice. "Mr. Nygma?"

She sounds so surprised.

"Where - ?" She pushes herself up and Pooky Bear and Pokey Bear tumble to the floor and then lay there, forgotten.

"You're right here in the home I share with Doc Thompkins in Beachview. It's okay sweetheart, there's nothing to be afraid of here."

"Was this your daughter's room?" Dini asks.

"Well . . . yes and no. It's a long story." Edward looks down for a minute just in case he starts crying. He's here to comfort this little girl, not lament his own losses.

"What was her name?"

"Another time," Edward says.

"You know. . . " Dini sits up straighter and puts on her glasses before saying beguilingly, "You guys are a family that's missing a daughter and I'm a daughter that's missing a family!"

"What did you mother do to you?" Edward asks pointedly, firmly changing the subject.

Dini draws her knees up to her chest, wraps her arms around them and pouts.

"How did you end up at the orphanage?" Edward asks her, continuing along this new line of questioning.

"They took me away," she says sullenly.

"Who?"

"The cops."

"Why?"

Dini just shrugs and refuses to look at him.

"Was it because your mother . . . wasn't a very good mother?"

Her green eyes shift back to him and appear to pierce through her glasses as she stares him down. Edward realizes that she's not going to answer any questions of his that easily. Instead of interrogating her - which is basically a form of verbal sparring - he tries a different tactic.

Time for some honesty.

His hand is shaking as he lifts it to his brow nervously. "I want to share something with you, Dini. Something I've not really shared with anyone. Not even Doc Thompkins. Can I trust you to keep a secret?"

Her hands drop from her knees and her eyes grow wide. "Of course, Mr. Nygma. What is it?"

"I um . . . I was abandoned by my parents."

"Really? You grew up in an orphanage?"

"Something very nearly like one - but it was a hospital as well. You see, I was sick, too."

"Like me?" Dini touches her insulin pump.

"Yes, but I was sick with something else. My mother discarded me because she was a mean, nasty person. She always picked on me and my dad - she did the worst things to him in particular - and once I got sick, she finally had her excuse to get rid of me for good."

"That's terrible," Dini says. "I'm sorry."

Edward nods. "Was your mom mean to you, too?"

"Yeah."

"Is that why they took you away?"

"Yeah."

"Did you have a dad?"

"No," Dini says forlornly. "But I've always wanted one. A mom, a dad, and me! A nuclear family of three!"

"Hey, that rhymes." Edward smiles.

"Yay!"

"Hey, can we do something?"

"What?"

"A secret exchange," Ed says. "I told you one of mine - well, more than one actually -"

"More than one?"

"Yes. Doc Thompkins doesn't know I was sick as a kid OR that my parents abandoned me. You'll keep those two things under wraps, right?"

"Of course."

"So can we exchange a secret for a secret?"

"I don't want to talk about my mommy," Dini says adamantly.

"That's fine, sweetheart. You don't have to. Can you tell me who did this, instead?" He points to the scar on her forehead.

He can see her eyes moving back and forth over and over as she takes time to think that over and make a decision. Finally, she looks him directly in the eye and says, "Jujubee's friends."


	52. Chapter 52

"Jujubee's Friends" had turned out to be a dead end.

"Why would she lie to me like that?" Edward demands of Lee one morning at breakfast.

"I don't think she lied."

"What are you talking about? I did some asking around. Jujubee HAS no friends. She's as lonely as Dini."

"Hmm. Must be why neither of them caught TB despite both of them not exactly being examples of what I would call robust health," Lee muses.

"That's beside the point," Edward says impatiently.

"I'm sorry, what was the point?"

"Are you hungover again?"

"Yes, sorry." Lee takes another sip of her coffee. She hasn't touched her food yet.

"It's not your fault," Edward says angrily. "It's _hers_."

With a flinch, she comes to the surface. The Doc.

"If you have something to say, Edward, say it to _me_."

"I do. For one, you might try laying off the booze when there's kids around."

"I resent that. I didn't touch a drop until Dini went to sleep last night."

"Yeah, and then you hit the bottle so hard you didn't even rouse when there was a potential emergency."

"What are you talking about?"

Of course she doesn't remember. Edward frowns. "Dini had a nightmare that night she was here. She was screaming and everything."

"That isn't an emergency situation."

"No, but what if it was? We supposedly had her here overnight under observation in case her insulin pump's tubing became detached again. What if some serious complication had developed?"

The Doc frowns and looks down, picking at something along the handle of her coffee mug that isn't really there.

"You know what I think?" Edward says.

"What?"

"That in a way, she wasn't here for medical reasons at all! In a way, you really DID kidnap her. What the hell is wrong with you?"

"She needed to be here!" The Doc screams at him.

"What good would it have done her? You were passed out, Doc. PASSED OUT. I don't have a medical degree. What could I have done?"

"Called the paramedics!" she shouts back.

"The orphanage could have done that!"

"Fine. I'll cut back," she says, almost quietly.

"On your drinking?"

"Yeah. But first I need a little something for this hangover."

Edward watches incredulously as she walks over to the liquor cabinet and pours a little something into her coffee. He tilts back in his chair in lets out a loud groan of frustration. His fingers jam deep into his hair and pull it tight past his temples.

Unbelievable.


	53. Chapter 53

Dini does continue to stay overnight with them in Beachview - on Lee's insistence - every single day that her tubing comes loose, regardless of any other factor. And Edward doesn't stop her. But, he had started to notice that when the little girl comes over, she invariably seems to have some new bruise or scuff mark. These kids are really terrible at hiding their handiwork. He knows he'll catch this 'everyone' someday - he just needs to stay watchful.

Dini and Edward are in his office during an afternoon that Lee had insisted she stay over.

"Do you see this?" Edward asks her, leaning over the two pieces of parchment lined up side by side in the center of his desk. "These were signed with a quill. Notice the purple inks?"

"Yes . . ." she breathes, reaching out to touch them. Edward didn't stop her - it's not like these documents were irreplaceable. He's planning on forging many more copies of them anyway.

"Can you tell which one is the fake?"

She shakes her head.

"Can you tell which one is written on human skin?"

"No!" she squeals and pulls her hands away, grabbing them, wringing them. "Eewww…."

Just then they are interrupted by a call from Oswald. Edward turns on the screen. "And how are you doing this fine morning, Mr. Unofficial Mayor?"

"I'm not doing well, thank you," he snaps. "No thanks to you."

"I told you, Oswald. I'm having difficulty accessing -"

"Excuses!"

"Oswald, what is this about? My revenge is no longer tied to yours. It shouldn't matter to you whether or not we find Strange. That's for _me_ \- for my revenge," Edward says firmly. "All that should matter to you is Tab -"

"Edward," Oswald interrupts impatiently. "There's been reports of 'odd things' going down at Strange's new facility -"

"Wait. You found where he moved it?"

"Yes," Oswald says and puts his hand down firmly, impatiently. "But that's not important right now. Listen to me Edward. They're doing stuff with **WHITE GOO**. Sound familiar . . . ?"

It feels like the floor is going to drop out from underneath him. Cyrus . . . whatever's going on has to do with Cyrus. And possibly Kristen.

"Are you okay, Mr. Nygma?" Dini asks as he flops down into his office chair, his staff falling to the ground, unnoticed.

No. He's most decidedly not.

"Who's that?" Dini asks him in a whisper, even though he's unresponsive, as she points to a boy in the background behind Oswald.

"This?" Oswald asks her onscreen, pushing the boy forward. He's wearing a school uniform and a pad about his neck. His dark hair is curly and his eyes are serious. He's a bit older than her.

Oswald pushes him forward even more and he ends up filling half the screen. "This is Martin. Say hi, Martin!"

The boy waves at her, causing her to cower behind Edward, who's still flopped in his chair, not really paying attention.

"Well, that's just great," Oswald mumbles. "It looks like you scared her off, Martin. Go ask William to throw the javelin with you, okay?"

Martin nods and traipses off screen.

Dini peeks her head out a little just as Edward starts to come out of his funk just a bit.

"White goo?" he asks his friend on the screen.

"Precisely," Oswald replies. "Now, while you think that over, I'm going to continue preparing a little surprise for you."

"Surprise?" Surprises weren't always good, coming from him.

"Yes. Goodbye, Edward."

Edward signs off.

"Mr. Nygma?" Dini asks timidly, coming around his chair.

"Yes?"

"Is one of these really made of human skin?" She points at the parchment on the desk and looks frightened.

Should he lie?

Probably.

"No, sweetheart. I was just pulling your leg." He removes the document of human parchment from the desk and tucks it away. "Now, where were we?"

"Purple ink!" she says exuberantly and they dig in.


	54. Chapter 54

'No, not the hot!' _a little girl's voice screeches._

 _Out of nowhere, his hand is whacked with a sterling silver utensil. It stings badly, almost feeling like a burn as the initial smarting wears off._

" _Wrong fork. We're eating_ ** _salad_** _, Edward. Use the outside one," his mother admonishes._

 _They return to their meal in silence._

'My mother was a mean, nasty person,' _a gruff, gravelly man's voice answers._

The sheets are soaked as Edward tosses and turns, getting stuck among them, cast adrift in a sea of nervous sweat. Alone.

" _Get away from me," his mother growls, swatting at him and pushing him away from her when he goes in for a hug. She had just been being nice to him. They had all just been having a good time. His mom. His dad. Him. He looks up at them in confusion._

" _Your mother's not in the mood for affection right now, son."_

 _She's never in the mood, even when she appears to be. His chin trembles._

'Do you have a dad?' _\- the gruff voice asks._

'No, but I want one!' _\- the little girl's voice answers enthusiastically, laced with hope._

 _Little boys learn the most important lessons from their fathers._

 _His father pulls him out into the hallway just outside the family room before his mother can see his tears fall - it's for his own good._

" _Never cry in front of your mother," he says sternly once they are out of range, shaking him. "You need to toughen up son, be a man. Don't show weakness . . . especially_ ** _not_** _in front of her."_

 _His father looks back nervously at the family room as Edward just cries and cries._

 _His father gets down on his knees - to his son's level - and hugs him tight, stroking his hair to soothe him, giving him the affection his mother never would. "It's okay, son. You're just a boy . . . just a little boy."_

 _When little Edward's crying has lessened, his father pulls away to say, "Don't try to force her affection, okay? If she wants to hug you, she will. No matter how much you may want it, you have to give her a wide berth. And remember to stay docile, amicable when she's agitated, like I told you. Okay?"_

" _Okay," Edward nods, his tears mostly over. He tries to wipe away some of them from his cheek with the back of his hand, but he just picks up a large globule of snot instead._

" _Here, son," his father says, having quickly found a wet wipe in the bathroom in the hallway that was left over from his baby days, which weren't that long ago. As he begins to clean Edward's face with it, he says, "Remember not to cry, okay? She'll be placated if you just remain docile, no matter what she does. She'll be less likely to attack."_

 _In that moment, Edward realizes that he had really messed up when he stood up to her over the record player. About the unfairness of it all. But why did_ ** _she_** _get to live by different rules?_

" _And DON'T cry," his father emphasizes. "It will draw her to you like a predator to its prey. Do you understand?"_

" _I'll try."_

" _Good boy," his father sighs, looking almost dejected. "In this house, you'll have to get tough and grow up faster than you should have to. And I'm sorry about that son, but that's just the way it is."_

"But what if I _don't_ want to remain docile?"

That is said into the waking world and it garners nothing more than a "Hmm?" from the other side of the bed and and drunken arm thrown about him.

"Go back to sleep," he whispers, and kisses her forehead.

As he rinses the night sweat off of himself, Edward remembers his father's flimsy excuse for his mother's lack of affection.

" _She's damaged, son. Someone broke her."_

" _Yeah, well, I'm damaged, too. Because of_ ** _her_** he had always wanted to say back to this memory of his father.

No one is ever going to love me. Lee, Leslie, The Doc - they're all going to leave me eventually. There's no way I can sustain this.

His tears join his sweat as it's walked away in the shower.

"Hey," he hears coming softly from the other side of the shower curtain. Surprise, surprise - it is her - the drunken one.

Why has she been drinking like this?

Why has Lee turned into a psychotic housewife and "mother" all of a sudden?

 _FUCK._ Why does The Doc drink so much!?

She parts the curtain softly, tentatively, and peeks in. She looks like a wreck and smells worse. Mascara is smeared on her face all the way to her temples, not just under her eyes and her lipstick is smeared, too. Looking at her, Edward suddenly realizes that he's already lost this one.

Is being with him _really_ that bad?

"Go back to bed, Doc," he says coldly.

"No, you need me."

"I'm fine."

"I don't think so."

Her head disappears and then he hears her clothes drop to the floor - she had forgotten to change out of them for the night.

She parts the curtain once more and steps into the shower to join him. The alcohol makes her a ghost of herself. He only has her for a few minutes after they switch each night before he loses her to new favorite pastime.

He sighs and takes her into his arms because it's what **she** wants. And he's not going to deny her his affection. He's not his mother.

She clings to him and lets herself cry until the water runs cold.

But why?

He's so confused.


	55. Chapter 55

Oswald's surprise arrived on schedule. Edward had demanded a date and Oswald had acquiesced and given him one.

"Ding dong door bell," Dini sang along with the upward pitch of the doorbell. Then she followed it's downward pitch. "Ding dong door bell."

Yes, Dini 'just happened' to be there that bright Saturday morning. Lee stands there and watches her with a smile on her face. Flour is in her hair and all over her apron. Edward hadn't been able to let her in on what exactly the surprise was because he had no idea what it was himself, but she had felt like baking for it anyway. Thank goodness it was a Saturday - she had been in the kitchen nearly half the day already.

Edward shakes his head. He doesn't think he'll ever truly understand this side of her. At least she still lets him make dinner.

"You know, that door chime is way too fancy for this house," Lee says to him. "This is just a quaint little Southern bungalow, not the Mayor's Mansion."

"It was all they had in stock," Edward answers testily.

When he found that their doorbell was broken shortly after moving in, he had gone down to the hardware store, looking for a replacement. All they had was the same goddamned chime that he had heard as a young child at his parents home in Gotham. He detested it, especially because he remembered his mother loving it.

But it truly was all they had in stock down here. Just like their food was always something from the sea. He hated that, too.

Edward makes it to the door before Dini does, but she rushes in and places her hand on the knob, too.

"What, you want to open it?" he asks her and then stands rises to his tiptoes to peer through the small glass window that is atop the front door. He looks down upon a head with dark hair fashioned in a way he can only describe as "duck-like." He chuckles.

 _Oswald._

Edward turns to the little girl and says, "Dini, you know your role in _Paradise Lost_ as Belial, that slimy politician of demons?"

"Yeah."

"Well, out there is a man who you should observe carefully."

"Really?"

"Yes. It will help you prepare for your role splendidly."

Lee has joined them in the foyer.

"Stop," she says, batting his shoulder lightly. "Get the door. It's not nice to keep your best friend waiting."

"Your best friend?" Dini looks up at him as if he's grown two heads. "YOU have a best friend?"

"Is that so hard to believe?"

"Uh. . ." As she looks up at him, her eyes just blink slowly. She has no other response.

"Just get the door," Lee snaps.

"Okay, okay," Edward replies and opens the door. "Oswald!"

There are instant hugs all around. Oswald has even brought Martin, who's grinning from ear to ear.

After a minute, Edward notices that Dini is partially hidden behind the door. "It's okay to come out, sweetheart. They won't bite. They're our friends."

He holds out his hand to her, but she doesn't take it right away, just stares at him woefully instead.

"Come on," he whispers. "It's okay."

Eventually she takes it and steps forward.

"Oswald, this is Dini - short for Edwardine."

"How precious."

"And Dini, this is Oswald Cobblepot, the unofficial mayor of Gotham."

"Are you a politician?" she asks in awe.

"Why, yes I am, little girl." Oswald bends down to shake her hand and then says to Edward, "I like this one. Who is she again, exactly? Edwardine? Don't tell me you two somehow spawned again?"

Edward crosses his arms and as Oswald laughs uproariously at his own cruel joke. Dini's forehead creases. "Spawn?"

"It means to have offspring," Oswald answers patly.

This is greeted with a blank stare.

"Another child," Edward says lowly with a murderous look at his best friend.

"Well, this little visit is getting off to a great start," Lee says sarcastically. "Do come in. All of you."


	56. Chapter 56

"But there are more of us, Lee," Oswald says.

"More?"

Just then, all four of them hear the soft blast of the first cannon. It sounds like it's coming from down the street. Some of the neighbors come out to their porches to see what's going on.

Ladies dressed as priestesses of Isis are the first to round the corner in the distance. They are throwing lotus flower petals along their path and Edward notices Dini clap her hands together in delight the second she sees them.

He knows these women.

Women who, according to William, are basically buttermilk zombies. They lead the parade that announces the arrival The Pharaoh to Beachview.

Marching in formation behind them are his 'soldiers,' complete with sandals, swords, and shields. Apparently, William's delusions know no bounds.

And then - they all see it.

"A sarcophagus . . . ?" Lee breathes in wonder as she takes in the enormous dark stone box carried down the street, held aloft on the sturdy shoulders of men dressed as Anubis all the way from their jackal heads to their sandaled toes.

"Yes, my dear," Oswald says. "It's William's present for Edward."

"A present?" Dini asks quietly. "It's not your birthday, is it?"

"No, it's still not my birthday," Edward answers. That had come and gone many years ago - he hadn't celebrated it since he had turned twelve.

"Bet you didn't know that I was born in the winter," Dini says with a distinct nod. "At the height of crab season."

Edward's heart lurches at her words - they instantly make him think of his little crab, his little Kristen. Lee silently takes his hand - he had gone stiff - and turns his attention back to the spectacle on the street.

The young ladies with the lotus flowers have made it almost all the way down the street. They have spewed countless petals in their wake and given whole lotus flowers to the children that have run out to greet them.

Dini asks Edward, "Can I?" when she sees that they are close.

Martin is holding up the exact same words on his pad for Oswald.

The two smile at each other like the coincidence is some kind private joke - even though they hadn't yet exchanged a single word with each other - proper introductions had been superseded by the parade. But once they are given their parents' permission, they run out into the street holding hands and play, dance, beg, and laugh amongst the ladies who are handing out the gigantic flowers.

"That was quick," Oswald said.

"What?"

"Just watch, they'll be thick as thieves forever more," Oswald proclaims.

"What are you talking about?"

"I know my son, Edward. Martin has found a friend in that girl. I'm figuring that it has a chance of lasting because most kids aren't that nice to him right away. They treat him like a freak until he has the chance to put them in their place."

"Dini would never do that. She's a kind girl."

"Let's just hope she never betrays him," Oswald quips, immediately spoiling the mood.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Edward is insulted by his best friend's insinuation. Even though Dini isn't even his child, he still feels protective of her regardless.

"I've got three syllables for you Edward," Oswald says. " _Ed-ward-ine_. She's named after _you_. Why wouldn't she betray him?"

"Oswald -" Edward growls lowly.

"Hey!" Lee says, interrupting them. "I thought you two were friends. Knock it off."

"Yeah, Oswald."

"Yeah, Edward."

"Oh my god, are you two in primary school?"

Her question goes unanswered as The Pharaoh comes into view, waving magnanimously at all his 'new subjects' in Beachview from atop his high throne. Some of them actually cheer at his arrival. It is definitely good to be the king.

"Oh good, it's William," Lee says and waves back at him, cheering as just as loudly as any of the neighbors. Edward is almost embarrassed for her. Lee just shakes her head as she returns her attention to Edward and Oswald, saying sternly, "Perhaps _he_ can sort out some of this schoolyard crap and knock some sense into you two **boys**."


	57. Chapter 57

"So, who's minding the store?" Edward asks William and Oswald as the adults all settle into the living room.

"Come again?" Oswald asks.

"With both of you down here from Gotham, who's handling the business? Together you two must control a decent chunk of the city. Who's in charge while you're gone?"

"Well -" Oswald starts before he's interrupted by William.

"My eyes," he says firmly and Oswald nods with a smile.

"Yes, his Scarab Army. Which general did you leave in charge, again?"

Edward can't believe Oswald trusts William enough to do something like this. They barely know each other, don't they?

"Horemheb."

"Hey, I know that name!" Lee says excitedly. "That's the name of Tutankhamun's general."

"Exactly so," William says and smiles. "Ah, Tutankhamun, I knew him well."

"Here we go again," Oswald mutters.

"Ah, yes," William says. "What a sad story. Such an unfortunate lad."

"Do tell," Lee says.

"Well, for one, he was never in the best of health. Always needed assistance walking around. Like you two." He points at Oswald's cane and Edward's staff.

The two of them clink their walking devices together as if they are having a toast at a bar. Lee can't help but laugh at them. William grins merrily and waits for them to finish. But once he continues, he brings the mood right back down.

"He was buried with 139 of his canes, and alas, poor Tutankhamun didn't have the chance to beget an heir on his wife before he died, either. He was barely a man when he passed."

"They had trouble conceiving?" Lee asks.

"No," William answers gravely. "Their two babes never made it to term. They were buried with him."

"Two? I had forgotten about that," Lee whispers, her face ashen. Edward reaches out to grasp her hand, knowing that she's thinking her two miscarriages - their second child and Baby Gordon before that. Lee stands up abruptly, holding her stomach. Then she speaks so quietly that only Edward can hear her.

"I feel a little queasy."

"We'll be back." Edward stands up with her and starts to lead her out, but just then Dini and Martin come racing into the room squealing, fresh from the beach across the road where William's entourage was now setting up camp.

They bump into Edward and Lee.

"Oops, sorry about that!" Dini says brightly.

They look down at the two children and notice that large white petals have been embedded in their hair. On Martin, it looks fine - his hair is curly and the petals just fit within his locks. But on straight-haired Dini?

"Look, Da -" She stops herself and blushes to the tips of her ears. Oswald gives Edward a look. Martin nudges her on and she tries again, pointing at her head. "Mr. Nygma, look. We had to get creative, use our brains."

"How so, child?" William asks her, butting in.

She gives The Pharaoh a little bow - very slowly, and very carefully. It is adorable. Unbelievably adorable. Edward can't help but smile. Lee, too.

"Well, Your Highness -"

"There will be no 'Highness' here, good child," says the man sitting on Lee and Edward's couch all decked out in the complete regalia of an Ancient Egyptian Pharaoh from the New Kingdom. "I command you to call me William."

"Or 'Uncle William,'" Oswald corrects him and then says to Edward, "That's what we have Martin call him."

What?

"Don't look so shocked, Edward. William has been over often enough that it seemed appropriate."

"Yeah, but you just signed your treaty not too long ago, how can that possibly be?"

"Well, he'd been coming over well before that, you know." Oswald tips his head.

Edward feels like he's been missing out on his best friend's life. Is he being replaced? Is that why Oswald seems to act so odd when the three of them are together? He gets so cantankerous.

"Agreed, Oswald," William says in his deep voice. "'Uncle William' will do nicely."

Wait, why should a child that is not even own his call his old best friend's newly found probable best friend 'Uncle' anything? His head is spinning just trying to make everything fit.

"And Martin, just to keep things fair, you can call him 'Uncle Edward' now, okay?" Oswald says to his son. "No more 'Uncle Riddler.'"

Martin nods in assent.

"What?" Edward asks.

"William doesn't like to be referred to as 'The Pharaoh' by those close to him - it's distancing." Before Edward can even voice an opinion on the whole thing, Oswald explains further. "I figure we should all just use our first names instead of our, well . . . 'professional names' in order to keep things consistent."

Dini heads over to Lee and Edward to show them how she and Martin had gotten the petals into her slippery hair in the first place. They had jammed them in between her earlobes and her head, poked them out between strands of hair and used the frame of her glasses to hold them in place. Clever. But, she looked like some kind of deranged elf next to Martin's cherub.

"You look beautiful, sweetheart," Lee manages and then says to everyone, "I'm going to have to leave you all to your little party and go lay down for a bit. Please excuse me."

"Party? Where's the party?" Dini asks. "Oh, it must be over there."

For no apparent reason, she points at Martin and breaks out into a giggle fit.

He draws a question mark on his pad.

"Give me that," she commands Martin, indicating his pad.

"Dini, that's not pol -"

Martin flashes a piece of paper saying *It's OK* before Edward can even finish his sentence. He pulls out a fresh piece of paper from his pad and hands Dini his pen. She plops down in front of the coffee table and gets busy drawing . . . something. No one can see it because she's blocking her work with her arms and elbows like it's some kind of state secret.

Finally, she's done and proudly displays it for everyone to see. Dini points to the triangular glass perched upon a slender stem that she had drawn. It's got a wavy line to indicate that it's full of liquid and includes some squiggles that could be interpreted as olives.

"Martini!" Dini shouts out. "It's not a party without martinis and we've got our very own right here: Martin. But he's missing the final 'eeeeeee!' so it will be less of a party, I'm afraid."

Martin looks terribly confused.

Edward however, has his mind on only one thing and he turns to Lee accusingly. Even though she had excused herself, she hadn't left the room yet. "How exactly does a SIX YEAR OLD know about martinis?"

His ire is directed at The Doc, and she knows it. So, she comes to the surface with a flip of her hair, making it harder for the others to tell what she's doing, obscuring the pain of the switch that usually shows up on the features of her face. "Fuck off, Edward. You know martinis aren't my speed."

No. Jet fuel is.

"Did I do something wrong?" Dini asks in a small voice.

"No, sweetheart," The Doc says, coming over to her to kiss the top of her head. "I'm just not feeling well is all. We're going to go lie down now."

"We?"

"Me," The Doc says, correcting herself. As she walks past the man she supposedly loves, she gives him a curt, cold nod. "Edward."

"Doc," he replies just as coldly.

"WOW!" Oswald can't help but snark. "Trouble in paradise?"

"Why? Whatever do you mean?" Edward says icily, hoping he'll drop it.

"I think I did something wrong." Dini looks down at the floor dejectedly.

"No, sweetheart, you didn't." Edward says, walking over to her. But then he looks over at Martin who still looks confused - not to mention a bit forlorn. "Well, except for not letting Martin in on the joke. That might have hurt his feelings. It's not nice to leave people out like that."

"Okay." Her head bobs in assent before she turns to her new found friend and says, "I'm sorry, Martin."

Edward wishes Oswald could figure out the same thing just as easily as this six year old child can.

Martin retrieves the paper where he had written *It's okay* and holds it up.

Dini looks relieved.

"Dini, why don't you tell our friends here all about our play and how you will be studying Oswald's every move for your part?"

"Oh?" Oswald brings a hand to his chest, flattered. But only for a moment.

Edward sits back down on the couch. This should be good. Let's see how _Oswald_ likes being left out on the joke.

"Yes! I will!" Dini says excitedly. "We're doing _Paradise Lost_ and I'm the devil Belial."

"And you're studying me because . . ?" Oswald asks.

"Why, because you're the slimiest politician I know," she says innocently.

He's the only politician she knows, but Edward's not going to illuminate that little fact for Oswald.

He ends up looking shocked, feigning hurt. "Edward, how could you?"

Edward just smiles smugly at his best friend.

"Uh . . . Lee mentioned something about a schoolyard. I'm not going to need to step in here, am I?" William asks.


	58. Chapter 58

With the flimsiest of reasoning, somehow Lee had convinced herself that Dini needed to stay over another night, but Edward was having trouble getting her to bed because she and Martin were playing with their lotus flowers - and having WAY too much fun - in the guest bathroom upstairs.

"Look, Mr. Nygma!" Dini exclaims as she spins a huge white flower in the tub.

Martin has his hands on the other flower in the tub - they had both been given one by William's priestesses - and he rams it into Dini's, causing both of them to squeal with delight. Petals are all over the tub.

"Okay, you two, time for bed. I mean it now" Edward says sternly, even though it looks like they are having a ton of fun together and he hates to spoil that. It's nice to see Dini with a friend.

"Awww…." Dini whines while Martin pouts. "But you said that last time."

"And I meant it last time - you two were supposed to be cleaning up in here."

"Okay, okay, we will," Dini says and pulls the plug out of the tub. It starts to drain. "But where do we put all the petals?"

"In the trash," Edward says simply.

Martin audibly gasps and Dini looks like she's going to cry.

"What?" Edward asks.

"But I don't want them to die." Dini whines softly.

Edward places a hand on her shoulder and says gently, "Sweetheart, everything dies eventually - and flowers sooner than most."

Martin looks away so no one can see his face as he starts to collect flower petals from the surface of the water as the tub drains.

"Now, please help Martin clean up. I'll be back upstairs to tuck you in once you're all done," Edward says to Dini.

"Okay," she says quietly.

When he turns back to make sure the two of them are finally doing as they're told, Edward notices that Martin has put an arm around her shoulder and she's rested her head on his. It's been really nice to see both kids become fast friends - too bad it won't last. He and Oswald don't see each other very often anymore - this is the first time he's been down this way since they left Gotham - and this situation with Dini is only temporary. She and Martin will likely never see each other again. It's rather sad.

After Edward tucks Dini in, he talks with Lee for a bit about the babies she's lost, trying to pour comfort into this open wound of hers that sometimes feels as if it's nothing more than a bottomless pit. It doesn't look like The Doc will show again tonight - probably because Lee's been feeling so bad. So, once Lee assures him that she'll be okay, Edward kisses her goodnight for the evening. William had told him that he had brought something for him that will likely require his attention for the rest of the night. So, he heads back to the living room.

"Okay, William, what have you got for me? The suspense is killing me," Edward looks around. "Wait - where's Oswald?"

"The present isn't for him. It's for you," William says firmly. "Besides, he's helping Martin get situated for bed - it's probably going to take a while."

"Oh?"

"Poor kid has nightmares. Sometimes he's too terrified to go to sleep so Oswald helps him to work it out, make it less scary for him, you know? It can take some time."

"Oswald does that?" Edward ponders how his father would have handled a situation like that and decides that he probably would have just told him to be quiet and pretend he didn't have nightmares in order to ward off the wrath of his mother. Good thing he hadn't been plagued with nightmares until just recently, after all his personalities had merged into one. As a kid, they would have been intolerable.

"Yes, he's an excellent father," William answers. "Very patient with that boy."

Since when had Oswald become a patient person? When exactly did that happen? A lump forms in his throat and Edward feels like he's missed out on so much of his best friend's life, even though he and Lee really haven't been away from Gotham that long.

"I hope that someday I can be as good a father as Oswald. Now come," William says and motions for Edward to follow him down to the basement.

It is lit eerily by torchlight as they descend the stairs.

"What happened to the light?" Edward asks William.

"We need to have this sacred lighting illuminating our path - not electrically powered bulbs."

"Why?"

"For the ceremony."

"What kind of ceremony are we having in my _basement_?" Edward asks, a little alarmed as they reach the bottom of the stairs. It is almost pitch black down there and the hairs begin to stand up along his forearms.

"Resurrection," William says ominously as his arm sweeps out and torches burn to life around some huge dark object that has been placed in the basement. "Come."

As William leads Edward forward, he asks him, "When did you have time to set all this up?"

The dark object is the black sarcophagus from the parade.

"I didn't set it up, friend. My Scarab Army did."

Only now can Edward see the few people who are with them down in the depths below his house, in the dark. He shivers.

"Just watch, Edward. I will have one of my assistants hold the bowl of buttermilk so that I can dip the wrappings into it."

"Buttermilk and gauze? Really? That's all it takes to bring someone back from the dead?" Edward says, a bit frustrated. "You're going to have to explain more of the science to me."

"But, that's just it - it's not all science. As I've explained to you, the acid from the buttermilk -"

"I got that part," Edward says impatiently. "The science you've already told me doesn't explain it - not even close."

"Well, there's more to it than that. There's a spiritual component. I will -"

"William, _wait,_ " Edward puts up a hand. "Look, before we start, I'm not going to believe you until I know for sure that this body is dead for myself. No tricks."

"Be my guest," William says, gesturing towards the now open sarcophagus.

Edward holds up a finger. "Be right back."

He goes back upstairs to get some things from Lee's medical bag and slowly opens the door to the bedroom they share. He thinks about how nice it is not to smell alcohol on her for once as he strokes her cheek in sleep. Poor thing - she really _does_ have more to grieve for than he does. She had also lost Jim's baby and probably got very attached to their second child in the womb - at least, more attached than him - he hadn't even known they had a second child until it was gone. . .

As quietly as possible, he grabs her stethoscope and a thermometer from the medicine cabinet in the master bathroom before heading back downstairs.

In the hallway, as he passes by the guest room that they have given to Oswald Martin for the night, he can hear Oswald's soft tones. Edward stops and peeks in unobtrusively. He can see Martin nod and give a little smile after something Oswald has said. Then, he sees Oswald place a soothing hand on the boy's cheek as he continues talking to him in soft, comforting tones.

Edward steps back, making sure he's completely out of sight. He looks up at the ceiling and blinks to wipe away the water from his eyes without letting it drop. His father would never have been so understanding . . .

" _Toughen up, Edward!"_

" _Don't cry. Only little boys cry."_

" _I'm doing this for your own good."_

Because of her - MOM

She had ruled their lives. She had ruled everything. Especially his father. _It wasn't fair._ Edward had seen him be kind - so he knew that he had the capacity - but overall, he had no tolerance for weakness. His mother had beaten that into him.

Edward vowed to show the kindness his father hadn't. He wanted to be the type of father Oswald was. Undamaged by family, loved and able to pass on that love. When he has kids -

The thought stops.

That was _never_ going to happen - the point was moot.

Edward adjusts his glasses, sniffs, and heads back to the basement, to the corpse that's waiting for him.


	59. Chapter 59

The body is cold, that's for sure. Very cold.

And no matter where he puts the stethoscope along the naked corpse of the young woman, he can find no signs of life.

And she smells, too. It's repugnant, but genuine. No tricks there. Not that there really could be - where in Gotham would William have been able to get his hands on some putrescine or cadaverine?

Edward supposes that William could possibly have gotten his hands on one or both of those substances down here at one of the biotech companies - BioTech Bay isn't far away - but he's pretty sure some guy dressed up as an Ancient Egyptian wandering around in one those facilities would be noticed. Security at those places is tight - he and Lee have first-hand experience with that. Besides, Edward's not sure how much of a burglar The Pharaoh really is - if one listens to Oswald, it doesn't sound like robbery is really his forte. He has . . . _other skills._

"Okay, I'm satisfied," Edward says and steps away from the body. "Do it."

William motions to his assistant holding the bowl of buttermilk, who steps forward once more. Then he begins the arduous process of wrapping the corpse in buttermilk soaked gauze. A member of his Scarab Army comes forward to assist him with that, lifting the body as needed. Man, they sure come in handy. Once they are done wrapping the woman's entire body except for her eyes, she looks like a mummy and smells more like soured buttermilk than a putrid smelling diamine.

"What now?" Edward asks.

"My flute." William motions to someone who comes out from the darkness bearing a flute-like instrument made up of two pipes. He takes it, and kneels beside the sarcophagus keeping one knee up so that he's still able to see inside of it. The two pipes of the instrument are so long that they reach lower than his hip, so William twists his back into what looks to be an uncomfortable angle to keep them from touching the floor.

And then he begins to play it. Sort of.

Because it's not music. It's just one note at a time. Like a scale.

But each note is special.

As William plays the first note, the corpse's eyes fly open. They are violet.

As William plays the second note, Edward thinks she's started to breathe. He removes the bandages from around her mouth and checks. Yes, she has!

As William begins the third note, her fingers subtly twitch - and then her toes do, too.

As William plays the fourth note, her arms and legs both move as she slowly pushes herself up - it's as if William is the charmer and she's the snake.

And once William plays the fifth note . . .

She's fully awake.

She pulls at the bandages around her face and head, shaking out her shaggy black hair, now damp with buttermilk.

"Where the hell am I?" she barks.

William puts down the flute and stands up, placing a comforting arm on her shoulder. "Now, now, nothing to be worried about, dear."

She looks up at him, her violet eyes as big as saucers.

"That's right," William continues softly. "Everything's okay."

"Who _IS_ she?" Edward hisses, trying not to be heard by her, yet simultaneously wishing to express his urgency to William. "What are we to do with her?"

"Her name is Query," William says and the woman looks over at Edward with a slow nod, keeping her lashes down.

"Query!? You mean the one that Jeremiah's - er," Edward can't recall her name right now. "- whatever she was - killed before my show?"

"The very one."

"What are we supposed to do with her?"

"Isn't the answer obvious?" Oswald says, placing the tip of his cane on the very last step of the staircase before following it down.

Neither William or Edward had heard him enter and they spin around.

"We need you to have another Riddle Factory in Gotham . . . and William mentioned that you were curious as to how all this works," Oswald says, "So we figured he could raise Query from the dead right here in your own home."

"The Riddle Factory?" Edward asks. He can't help but smile widely. "Like a rave? Just impromptu?"

"Yes," Oswald says. "I told you already, Edward, any time you want or need to have Riddle Time, I'll get you a venue. And now you have your very own assistant on tap."

Edward practically jumps into Oswald's arms and hugs him tight. "Thank you. _Thank you._ You're the very best best friend, Oswald."

"Aww. . . shucks," Oswald says, blushing as Edward breaks away from the hug.

"Query?" Edward steps back up to the woman in the sarcophagus. "Would you do me the honor of being my assistant at The Riddle Factory?"

She looks up at William for approval and he nods.

"Sure, sugar," she answers, drawing her fingertip along his chin before pointing it out at the other two. "Anything for all you boys."

Then William bonks her on the head and she passes out, falling back into the sarcophagus none too gracefully.

"What was that for?" Edward asks William.

"Transport."

"What?"

"It's easier this way." William shrugs.

"Do you always transport your women this way?" Edward asks.

"Pretty much," William answers, and laughs.


	60. Chapter 60

"So, what did William bring you?" Lee asks Edward before he's awake enough to join the land of the living - the sun isn't even quite up yet.

"A girl."

"A girl?"

"A woman."

"Well, what is it, Edward? A girl or a woman?"

"Ugh, it's too early." He dives under his pillow in an attempt to avoid her question, but it doesn't work, she just bangs into him with her own.

"Girl or woman? Girl or woman? Girl or woman? Girl or woman?"

"Grrr. . . You're going to be the death of me, you know that?" he says, tossing both of their pillows aside and flopping onto his back with a groan.

"So, what is it?"

"A woman who is also a girl."

"Oh fuck, Edward. It's too early in the morning for riddles!"

"Then you shouldn't have woken me up!"

That slows her down a bit.

He covers his eyes with his arm against the slowly brightening room.

"Okay . . . just tell me what William brought for you."

"An assistant - a 'girl' - for The Riddle Factory. A permanent one - a woman who will assist me whenever I chose. She's 'on tap', as Oswald would say."

"How did William find someone to work for you on a permanent basis? And wait . . . she's here?"

"Yes and no," he answers, uncovering his eyes.

Lee furrows her brows.

"She's conked out."

"Too much partying with all you boys last night?"

"If you call a resurrection a party, sure."

"Ohhhh . . ."

Edward winks at Lee as understanding blossoms over her face.

"She's one of William's buttermilk zombies, isn't she?"

"Yes, she's the assistant I was supposed to have that night back in Gotham. You know, the one that that woman named Ecco killed?" He finally remembers her name. "Pretty sure that one's working for Jeremiah. But I don't have to worry about her now. Query is the name of the lady we resurrected last night."

"Well, where is she? I want to meet her. I've got to see this firsthand. And how was it accomplished? Were there Ancient Egyptian rites involved?"

"Shhh. . . too many questions, Lee. It's too early in the morning for all of that. Right now, it's time to just lay back."

"But we don't have any pillows."

"Feel free to use my chest as one."

She sighs and does just that, laying her head upon it near the crook of his arm. Languidly he strokes her hair as her fingers draw lazy circles upon his chest, almost tickling him. After a while, he turns them both over, pulling her into him and spooning her from behind.

"Mmm. . . you smell nice," he murmurs.

She knows exactly what he means. "Yes, and it's nice not being hungover for once, too."

Edward tucks her hair behind her ear and trails a finger down her now exposed neck. He can tell she's repressing a shiver. A shiver of delight, he hopes.

He follows that finger with kisses and she squeals, pulling him even tighter.

"Now, now," he says, extracting himself and turning her over to face him. Kissing her, he whispers upon her lips, "Patience."

"Don't you dare tell me to have patience," she says. "I never get this."

"What?" he asks, thoroughly confused.

"You usually do this with _her_ , not me, so this is a nice treat. And I plan to enjoy it!" She flips him, straddles him. It doesn't take much before he grows hard beneath her. "That's a good boy, a nice boy, a HARD boy."

She leans down to kiss him deeply, and though he grabs her hips, she doesn't let him penetrate her just yet. She just glides over him - making him want, but not giving him the satisfaction. Pleasuring herself.

Her moans are quite enticing and his grip tightens. Tsk tsk. She shakes her finger at him. NOT YET.

Perhaps if he makes _her_ want him.

His hands leave her hips and his fingers find her nipples. Each index finger traces a small circle at first, but then his thumbs join in and slowly they circle each one into a firm pinch. A simultaneous one.

Lee's breath catches in her throat and he swears she grows wetter on his cock, which is still underneath her folds as she rocks herself upon his shaft.

"C'mon, Lee, you know you want it."

"I -" Her breath catches again as he pinches even harder and thrusts upward with his hips when just the right part of her passes just the right part of him. "Fuck. . ."

He laughs.

"Okay, just give it to me."

Edward slides a hand up her back and finds the nape of her neck, while his other hand guides her hips over him. Damn, she's wetter than he thought. And she feels so warm, so inviting . . .

He stares deep into her eyes as they begin to rock together, and he sits up a bit and pulls her forehead down to his, so they can rock as one. A complete union.

He wishes this could last forever and is almost in tears by the time it is over, knowing that it won't.

"What's wrong?" Lee asks, worried.

"It was just intense, that's all," he says and pulls her into his chest so she can't read his expression. "That's all . . ."


	61. Chapter 61

Dini and Martin, who have become fast friends despite their two year age difference, sit in front of the big screen at Edward and Lee's place that morning - a place not really set up for kids, since they aren't planning to have any. Lee and William are off in another room having, of all things, an in-depth conversation about the ankh and how it relates to the afterlife.

Boring.

Edward had decided to remain behind with Oswald - they're keeping an eye on the kids while slowly finishing up their breakfasts. Martin starts making odd shapes with his body between the ottoman and the couch, possibly trying to get comfortable or just to entertain Dini, who giggles at his efforts.

"Martin!" Oswald calls out from the kitchen table. "What have I told you about how we behave as guests in someone else's home?"

Martin looks remorseful as he holds up his pad.

*Sorry Uncle Edward*

"It's okay, Martin," Edward says. "Just . . . just don't get anything dirty, okay? Watch where you put your feet."

"Yeah, Martin! Mr. Nygma doesn't like a mess!" Dini screeches and then grabs Martin's feet by the heels to chastise him. "Dirty shoes! Dirty shoes!"

Edward notices that Martin is starting to scribble "stop it" on his pad and decides to jump in. He stands up and clears his throat. _Loudly._ "Dini?"

"Yes?"

"Put Martin's feet down. You're making him uncomfortable and it takes him time to tell you that. It takes him time tell you anything, remember?"

"Yes," she says and solemnly puts his feet down. "I'm sorry, Martin."

He hugs her in a gesture of forgiveness and they settle back in quietly to watch their show. She puts her head on his shoulder.

"You'd make a natural father," Oswald says as Edward sits back down. "Just like me."

"I don't think so. I'm not meant for it." Edward looks solemnly at the orange juice in his glass before finishing it off in one fell swoop.

"But you almost were."

"No, I _was_ ," Edward corrects his friend quietly so the kids can't hear. "But our baby – our Kristen - _DIED_. I'm afraid it's just not meant to be."

Oswald gives a pointed look towards Dini.

"Don't," Edward says warningly.

"Think about it, Edward. If not for yourself, then for Lee. A little girl in her life might be just what she needs now that enough time has passed."

Enough time had NOT passed. Even if Lee had been acting like it had with her crazy 'nuclear family' delusions, it was too early. WAY too early.

Yet. . .

Edward looks over at the little dark-haired girl, her head resting on Martin's shoulder. The little girl that looks so much like Lee – and himself. The little one who was slowly inching her way into their lives, like it or not. She had almost slipped up and called him 'Dad' already.

He gulps and realizes that he needs to change the subject.

"Oswald?"

"Yes?"

"It's obvious why you had me resurrected. But why Lee?"

Oswald sighs deeply. His hand flutters slightly against the rim of his empty orange juice glass as he answers – something that does not escape Edward's notice. "Because you love her."

"I don't understand."

"Despite your better judgement, I knew you loved her and I … I couldn't do that to you again." Oswald's eyes look anguished as he looks back up at his friend. "I couldn't be the one to take the one you loved away from you again. So, since there was a way, I had to bring her back to you."

Edward gulps and places a hand upon Oswald's to steady it on the glass – to stop him from shaking. His eyes are watery as he whispers a gruff "Thank you."

Then, they both stare down into their empty glasses.

Edward swirls his absently, even though there is no liquid in it. "We've come a long way since Isabella, haven't we?"

"Well, I just didn't want to have to deal with 'mopey Ed' again," Oswald says sardonically. "He's your scariest incarnation to date."

They both laugh, clink their empty glasses together, and then join the kids in front of the screen for a while before taking them out to the beach.

* * *

Lee had stayed inside while William joined the kids for their foray down to the beach. Edward and Oswald decide to stay back and watch them all build a sand castles from afar. William looks like a natural father, too. Whenever he picks up Martin to fly him like an airplane or even inform him of a rule that shouldn't be broken, the boy beams back at him.

"Can I ask you something?" Edward asks his best friend as they sit on a huge piece of driftwood that's been rolled back to edge of the sand, facing the action.

"Sure," Oswald replies.

Edward wants to make sure he's not being replaced in Oswald's life - not by William - not even if it happens slowly. He's never had a best friend except for Oswald - none before or since.

"When you said Martin calls William 'Uncle' too, does that mean -"

Oswald cuts him off before he can even ask. "Sometimes I hate that guy."

That is . . . unexpected. So unexpected that Edward feels the need for clarification, "Who? William?"

Oswald only gives the briefest of nods. Edward can clearly see the ire form over his best friend's face as he watches William pick up Martin for yet another airplane. Both kids are laughing, and Dini is beneath Martin's 'airplane,' both of her hands outstretched begging. "Me next! Me next!"

"He's acting as if he's Martin's dad," Oswald says, obviously fuming.

This can't be it - there must be more.

Edward waits for him to continue.

His face burning red with anger, Oswald turns back to Edward and says, "That's MY job. Martin is MY son. William can't take that away from me!"

"Oswald," Edward says, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I don't think he will - I don't think he CAN. Martin loves you."

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean that William's not angling for it." Oswald pouts.

"You sure he's not angling for 'best friend' status instead?" Edward asks, hoping that not too much of his insecurity is showing.

"That doesn't matter," Oswald answers emphatically. "No one can replace who you are to me, Edward. _No one_."


	62. Chapter 62

Martin and Dini have moved on to passing notes back and forth and cackling uproariously - they have no interest in the sand castles or William's airplane twirls anymore. As he and Oswald sit there in silence, just watching the kids on the beach, Edward thinks about what Oswald has just told him, turning it over in his mind, attempting to make sense of it.

Perhaps Oswald has been so agitated lately because William is getting too close for comfort? But then why doesn't he take it out on _him_? Why does there seem to be more ire coming from Oswald when it's just the three of them? Perhaps Oswald is feeling strained now that he's got two friends to juggle? But then, there's the part where Oswald encourages Martin to call him 'Uncle William', yet somehow the two of them are angling for the young boy's affection? Parenthood should not be a competition, but apparently it is.

 _Ugh._

Sometimes it's overwhelming trying to figure out Oswald's moods. Edward gives up and just lets himself be content that _no one_ is taking his place in Oswald's life. They'll be best friends forever. He smiles to himself.

"Let's go check out what the kids are doing," Oswald grumbles. "They're making too much noise for my liking."

"I bet Dini's learning a lot of words from Martin," Edward speculates.

The two of them had occasionally heard her ask excitedly, "Now what does that mean? And that?"

Her voice carries all the way up the beach as the surf is quiet that day. The sea is calm. Edward thinks bitterly that Kristen wouldn't have had to learn any words from Martin at all. She'd probably be teaching _him_.

"No doubt," Oswald agrees with a nod and they both get up and begin to maneuver their way down the beach. "How do you DO this, Edward?"

"What?"

"Walk through this abominable sand!" Oswald is struggling, despite having his cane for assistance. He gets so angry, he raises it above his head and throws it down onto the beach. "And now my foot is throbbing. I'm not going any further!"

He crosses his arms in defiance. But before Edward can even respond, William is there to save the day.

"Here, lean on me," He puts a strong arm around Oswald and for the first time, Edward notices that they are actually close to the same height. Short. Huh. William had always seemed so physically imposing - and big. Must be those well cut muscles of his, which are on display yet once again as Oswald leans into his bare chest, accepting his offer as a human crutch.

"I've changed my mind," Oswald says. "I want to go back inside. Edward, you can watch the kids."

Edward just gives him a salute and heads back down to the forgotten sand castles. It isn't easy maneuvering through the sand with a permanent injury - Oswald is right. Edward had forgotten momentarily how he had to get used to moving in another way, using his staff differently and so on as he traverses the sand. It takes more effort. He had gotten better, but he'd never be able to enjoy that most banal of Southern pastimes: taking nice long, relaxing walks along the beach. They would never be relaxing for him.

He likes to squish the wet sand through his toes closer to where the surf breaks through - and he finds that relaxing and completely worth the walk - but he knows he'll never be 'normal.' That ship sailed long ago. He enjoys walking along the sand, but his trips are kept short by necessity.

As Edward comes upon the children, he hears Dini say to Martin, "Oooh. . . so you _do_ know what happened to their daughter. What was her name?"

And just as Martin has finished writing the final "n" in Kristen, Edward tears the slip of paper out of his hands before Dini can see it.

"There will be none of that!" he says firmly.

Martin looks at him strangely, a question in his eye, whereas Dini flops back into the sand in frustration and whines. "Awww. . . But Dr. Thompkins won't tell me, either!"

"That's because it's not a tale for you to know," Edward answers before turning to Martin and saying sternly, "Or, for others to tell."

Martin looks down.

"Do I make myself clear?"

Both of the children nod.

Then Dini says "This isn't fun anymore" and the two of them race back to the house.

Edward walks down towards the waves and kicks off his shoes a few feet above where the uprush of water seems to end before it recedes back into the ocean again. He steps out onto the wet sand, daring a wave to come up so far as to meet his toes.

But the ocean is teasing, tentative - the water recedes again and again before it has a chance to reach him. Edward brings the crumpled slip of paper up to his face, opening it with one hand.

KRISTEN

His baby. His girl. She's not here today to enjoy this glorious sea . . .

At that thought, a daring wave rushes over his toes and almost lingers.

Tears suddenly blur Edward's vision of Martin's schoolboy-perfect letters on the paper, and holding onto his staff to steady himself, he leans forward, the hand holding his daughter's name gripping his knee as well.

Each new wave that passes over his feet receives his tears.

* * *

The Doc finds him that way and straightens him up. He shows her the paper in his hand and wipes his eyes with the other one.

KRISTEN

"It's not time. It's too early. I'm not ready," Edward stammers.

The Doc knows exactly what he's talking about - there's no need to explain any further. She snatches the note from his hand and pockets it.

"Good. Neither am I. I'll never be ready."


	63. Chapter 63

As Oswald, William, and Edward are getting ready to leave to return to Gotham, Oswald smiles at Dini and says to Edward and Lee, "You should bring your little girl up to Gotham someday."

Lee looks at him anxiously as Edward starts to say, "Uh, Dini's not our -"

"What was that?" Oswald asks, raising a mocking hand to his ear.

"No, I'm not," Dini says firmly, stepping in between Edward and Lee. "But they'd make great parents, wouldn't they?"

Her mouth forms a toothy, way-too-ready-for-the-camera smile, and she pulls each of them tightly into herself by their waists. It would be a picture perfect moment if Edward and Lee didn't have such uncomfortable-looking expressions on their face. In fact, Lee has started to turn a bit white and Edward thinks she might actually be shaking. Playing 'nuclear family' is one thing - living it is another. Edward finds himself a little miffed at Lee for bringing this little girl into her fantasy yet once again. They're only going to disappoint her.

"I think so," Oswald answers.

"I'd also like to see Gotham someday," Dini replies. "Good idea, Uncle Oswald."

Then out of nowhere, Martin writes a non sequitur on his pad.

*I don't want a mom*

Where the hell did THAT come from?

"Well, that's good then, Martin. You don't have to worry about that," Oswald says in a clipped tone.

*I want another dad*

Martin points firmly at the word 'dad.'

William freezes in place.

Martin had drawn a picture of two men holding hands beneath his request. One of them is clearly Oswald, but it's difficult to make out who the second one might be - if it's even meant to be someone in particular.

Oswald blushes and stutters a bit and gives Edward a few furtive glances. William hangs his head upon seeing that and Oswald says to Martin, "Well, I want that, too, but we don't always get what we want."

William turns away.

* * *

William had given his entourage 'marching orders' - literally. They're going to march all the way to some tunnel in BioTech Bay that Edward has never heard of, holding Query aloft within her sarcophagus. But William, Edward, Oswald, and Martin will be going on ahead without them. They are going to be driven to BioTech Bay the way Oswald and Martin had come to Edward and Lee's house in the first place - by taxi.

"You realize this is highway robbery, right?"

"Hmm…?" Edward asks, standing on the front porch with Oswald. He had been distracted watching Lee help Dini get all set to go back to the orphanage through the dining room window. Dini looks really sad.

"This Shoreline Taxi service. They charge five times as much as a taxi in Gotham used to cost and they have to drive longer distances from point to point because everything is so spread out here," Oswald grumbles. "A bunch of degenerates and no-good swindlers you've chosen to live among, Edward."

And Gotham is better? Edward chuckles. "Well, when we need some spending cash, Lee and I engage in intercourse as we rob banks, so . . ."

They fit right in.

Oswald puts up a hand and involuntary shivers. "Please, do _not_ remind me of your warped sex life right now. How they have not arrested you two, I will never know. They know who you ARE - you're on the news all the time! Criminy. Do I not pay you enough?"

"No, Oswald, you don't. We continually need medicine and hospital supplies for those kids at the orphanage." Before Oswald can reply, Edward puts up a hand. "But it's fine. You're right, we enjoy that part of our sex life - it's fun to shock these people. Not having enough resources is a nice excuse to keep it up. The authorities look the other way. We have a deal with those bleeding hearts."

"They're as bad as Lee, huh?"

"Worse."

"I taught you well, my friend," Oswald says, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I taught you well."

* * *

Dini is sitting in their car, waiting for Lee to drive her to the dock at Jilt Beach so Miles can take her to Driftwood Island and back to the orphanage. It's been a fun couple of days, but it's got to end. Lee's a bit forlorn as Edward says goodbye to her, just the two of them in the foyer.

"Hey, I won't be gone that long," Edward jests.

She taps him lightly on the shoulder and says, "That's not it, and you know it."

"I know," he says softly, and kisses her even more softly. As they part, he says, "I'd like say goodbye to everyone."

"Okay," Lee replies and holds her hands to her temples - there's no need to make a subtle switch in front of him even though sometimes she does anyway. After her face squeezes into a tight grimace from the pain, Leslie emerges.

"Please come home soon, Eddie. I think the other two are losing it in here."

He chuckles.

"Don't laugh, I'm serious. They're crazy - I'm the only sane one in here."

"Well, technically you're all -"

"Don't get smart with me, Eddie. This isn't a shrink's office. I'm serious. Lee's 'playtime' with Dini or whatever that is won't bring baby Kristen ba -" Leslie grabs the sides of her head and screams, "Let go of me!"

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm okay," she answers in her little girl voice. Leslie had won whatever internal battle that was. "But it's not just Lee. The Doc's turning into a mean drunk in here, too."

She closes her eyes in frustration. "Yes, I know you don't drink unless you're out but you're driving us both nuts cause all you think about is booze. And, you're cranky."

Leslie's eyes open and look straight at Edward's. "And I'm stuck with her you, know. Like all the time. Those two never let me come to the fr -"

"Argh!" she grabs the side of her head and doubles over.

"Sorry about that," says the sultry voice of The Doc as she straightens back up. "I hear you're shipping out, Sailor."

The Doc trails a seductive fingernail down Edward's cheek and along his jawline. He gulps involuntarily as he lets her invade his personal space and rub up against him.

"You gonna miss me?"

"Of course," he answers in a husky voice.

"Good," she purrs, undoing his belt buckle and the top button of his pants before reaching in and . . .

He lets out a sigh as her fingers tease him ever so swiftly to firmness.

"Mmm. . ." She moans into this lips as they meet in a fiery kiss.

"A-hem!" Oswald says loudly from the front door. They hadn't even heard it open.

"Coming," Edward answers him tersely over his shoulder.

"I can see that," Oswald says wryly.

"That's it. I'm outta here," The Doc says before Edward can even say goodbye.

"Fucking Oswald," Edward grumbles quietly as he puts himself back together and his best friend goes back outside to wait for him on the porch.

Lee is the one that stands before him now and she's practically in tears. "I HATE having all three of us in my head. I fucking hate it!"

"I know," Edward says and pulls her into his arms. "Believe me, I know."

"If only there was some way to fix this - reverse it. I'm hoping you'll find a cure someday, perhaps once you have unlimited access to all of Professor Strange's research."

"Lee, I -" Edward had been meaning to tell her what he had found in that old notebook from Strange's lab at Indian Hill, but he hadn't gotten around to doing so just yet. He wanted to share what he had learned out about the power of story and how it might -

"A-hem!" Oswald again. Impatient, as usual.

Edward kisses Lee brusquely and then turns towards the front door. Looking back at her over his shoulder at her he says, "Doctoring. Just keep up your doctoring, Lee."

She looks confused as Oswald yells out "Goodbye, Lee" and yanks Edward out by his elbow.

Then they leave for their destination - BioTech Bay.


	64. Chapter 64

The taxi drops them off in the parking lot of Deque Discovery, the biotech firm with the large orange crab painted boldly over the front of its cerulean building.

"Deque Discovery?" Oswald pronounces the first word with two syllables, as if noticing the name of the company for the first time. "What business do you have here, William?"

Edward jumps in. "It's pronounced 'deck,' Oswald. Only one syllable."

"I can always count on you, Edward, to correct me on every little thing." Oswald rolls his eyes.

. . . and there's William's deep belly laugh.

The three of them make quite an ensemble as they walk towards the far end of the parking lot.

"Oswald, as I already told you, they are interested in the restorative properties of my buttermilk ceremonies," William says. "That's the business that I have with them."

"'Restorative properties?'" Oswald snorts. "No, Willie, they want to know how you raise the dead - that's what they want to know."

 _Willie?_

The broad man chuckles as Oswald just shakes his head and turns to Edward, whispering, "Sometimes it's really quite trying to accomplish things with someone who's delusional."

Edward whispers back, "'Willie?'"

"Oh never mind that," Oswald waves a hand dismissively. "I know ostensibly you're coming back with us for another Riddle Factory evening - but you know the real reason I'm taking you back to Gotham, right?"

"'Mysterious white goo.' Don't worry, Ozzie, I haven't forgotten."

"Don't -" Oswald holds up a finger and then sighs dramatically. "Call me that."

And now, once again, there's that deep belly laugh of William's.

They have arrived at the entrance of a natural clay cave just past the boundary of the parking lot.

"Uh, Oswald, what are we doing here? These things are dangerous."

"William, do please explain."

"I had this particular entrance for my transport system fortified," William begins. "And I took great pains to make sure it still appears to blend in with the natural surroundings - that it looks like it always has. The people at Deque Diagnostics are none the wiser, and having an entrance so close to their facility allows me to travel here quickly - and without burdening my people. This was the first trip we made actually, seeing as we just finished it."

"But the water?" Edward asks.

"Yes, as you can see, this was originally one of the natural clay caves that are plentiful around here. Dangerous - and unpredictable. So easy to get trapped within, unaware of the rising tide, and drown. But now, the sea drains into here as the tide rises instead of entering the cave." William walks a bit away from the cave's mouth and points to a barely discernible, slightly wavy line in the sand. "We've also made it so that the water is sent back to the sea as the tide drops once there is no more risk of it flooding the cave."

"Clever," Edward says.

"The picturesque natural landscape is only minimally disturbed."

"Jeremiah isn't the only builder in Gotham," Oswald says proudly. "Come, Edward, you've got to see this transportation system that William has constructed for yourself."

"That my Scarab Army has constructed," William corrects him.

"Yes, but you were still the engineer," Oswald argues. "It was _your brain_ that made this possible."

William shrugs.

"He's so delusional," Oswald says quietly. "But useful."

"I rather like him," Edward replies.

"Me, too."

* * *

"Please, step in," William says to Edward, Oswald, and Martin after a golden car has just pulled up within the cave to meet them. It isn't quite a pyramid in shape, yet it still remains reminiscent of one. The seats inside are covered in red velvet and are just as luxurious as anything Oswald would desire. William obviously had the interior of these cars designed with his tastes in mind.

Once they all are all settled in, Edward asks, "Still no planes? All the airfields are still -"

"Destroyed, yes." Oswald sighs. "For a builder, Jeremiah is incredibly destructive. He shoots down any plane within range of the city, too."

"He sure likes the citizens of Gotham kept captive," Edward muses.

"Indeed." Oswald nods.

"What does he plan to do with them?"

"I don't know," Oswald says. "Who understands the ravings of a madman? I know I never will."

At his words, both Edward and William physically shift their positions, obviously uncomfortable. Each of their changes in posture does not go undetected by the other. Hmm. . . So, William _knows_ he's crazy. How does that work? If one has delusions that they know are delusions, then they can't really be delusions . . . and thus they can't really be crazy, right? Edward shakes his head at the circular logic.

"Really loved the eclairs your wife made for us, Edward."

"Um, Lee's not -"

William puts up a hand. "I'm sorry, that just slipped out."

"She's NOT his wife, William," Oswald says condescendingly. "Do you really think Edward is secure enough to even enter into a serious relationship like marriage?"

And then he answers his own question as Edward's heart continues to sink.

"No, Edward would never be so foolish as to do such a thing. He is in constant fear of abandonment, rejection -"

Why is his best friend sharing something so private with WILLIAM, of all people, and making a mockery of him at the same time?

"That's ENOUGH, Oswald," Edward growls.

"I quite think it is," Oswald says with a satisfied smile.

William just looks uncomfortable at their little exchange - as well he should. He shouldn't have been privy to it in the first place.

"So, William, how fast does this thing go?" Edward asks, changing the subject.

"Fast," is his answer. That's it. 'Fast' . . . followed by confidently crossed arms.

"Oh, he's being modest," Oswald says. "If you consider this a railway - which I think would be the closest thing to it - it's faster than any other railway we know of. Even faster than going by air."

"THIS is faster than a plane?"

"We'll be to Gotham in roughly a half an hour."

Edward whistles. Yes, that was faster than most known transport - and certainly faster than anything on the ground - and his gut tells him that this feat of engineering will not be outclassed by anything Jeremiah could ever hope to build.

"William, I've got a question for you since you've been working with Deque Discovery," Edward says.

"What is it?"

"Do you know why poopdeque isn't sold in Gotham? I can think of plenty of people who - before Jeremiah's little population reduction experiment - would have died for a substance to keep them slim. Literally."

"Uh. . . because it's illegal?" William responds innocently.

"Come now, William, you know that isn't a deterrent in Gotham," Oswald says.

"Well, then, I don't have an answer for you," William replies. "I don't really know. Besides, I don't work with that division of Deque Discovery - the Toxin Division. I'm affiliated with the division of the company that's more interested in enhancing life."

"Or, pulling it from death's grip," Oswald snarks. "I think Professor Strange may have some competition. Jeremiah's Mutant Army vs. William's Scarab Army. There's no question who would win that little battle."

"Jeremiah's going down," William grumbles. "I don't really care for what he's done to _my_ university . . . or my city."

"Indeed," Oswald replies, patting his knee. "Indeed."

So, William recalls being a department chair at the university and yet, he still thinks he's a Pharaoh. He's living a delusion and aware of reality at the same time. How does that work?

Edward finds himself lost in thought trying to work out how William's brain must have to function in order to keep him lodged in a mythical past despite being aware of who he really is in the present.


	65. Chapter 65

"You know, I didn't really think of Martin as a son at first -"

"But he wormed his way into your heart," Edward interrupts.

"Precisely. Same thing's going to happen to you and Lee with that precious little angel. Mark my words."

"It won't."

"Just wait for it, Edward," Oswald says smugly. "Just you wait."

Edward thinks about how good Dini has been for Lee, The Doc too - even though they've had fewer interactions. Then, he thinks of something else.

"Oswald, what did you mean when you told Martin that we don't always get what we want?"

Martin's head perks up when he overhears his name. He scrambles to find just the right piece of paper among the others in his pad. He lifts it up.

*I want another dad*

Oswald gently takes it from him. "Thank you, son."

Edward watches Oswald trace his fingers over the man his representation is holding hands with. "I want this."

William leans forward, elbows on his knees. His expression is . . . intense.

"But I only want this with you, Edward." Tears are shining in Oswald's eyes as he looks back up at him. It won't take much to make them drop.

"Oh, Oswald. What are we going to do with you?" Edward says, and pulls him in so he can cry on his shoulder.

Edward looks over at Martin and takes in his serious pout, and, quite frankly, what looks to be evil emanating from his eyes.

"Come over here, Martin," William says gently, guiding the young boy to sit closer to him on his side of the car - away from Oswald and Edward.

By the time they reach the Van Dahl estate, William is looking quite forlorn, and Martin isn't looking much better.

"Oswald," Edward says, nudging his best friend. "We're home."

"I'm glad you think of it that way," Oswald says, lifting his head from Edward's shoulder and smiling. "So glad you think of it that way."


	66. Chapter 66

That night, Edward tries to sleep in his old room, but finds himself continually waking up and staring out at the pool. No, the pool _house._ He doesn't want to be in denial about that. It's definitely the pool house that's gotten his attention - along with memories of his baby, Kristen.

He puts on a robe and slippers and heads out there.

Opening one of the sliding glass doors and peering in, he notices that the sofa is different. The section that he had torn apart with that evil knife had been reupholstered. And the colors don't exactly match. The new fabric is more of a light cream than a stark white like the original. He's really starting to hate cream colored things.

Amazingly no one had removed the knife he had used to brutalize it from the pool house. It sits innocuously on a table - most likely having been found when the sofa was fixed. He doubts Oswald knows about that - if he had known, he most likely would have put it away for safe keeping so Edward would never have to encounter it again - or he would have had it destroyed.

But then his gaze travels up and down the undamaged leg of the white wicker sofa. He stares at the section that he had convalesced on after he had been permanently injured by Professor Strange - the one where he had experienced that fevered dream as Lee and The Doc tended to him once his injury had become infected. This is the very part of the sofa where Kristen had been a crab that he had awakened to lying on his chest, squeezing his torso ever so softly.

" _I was born in the winter. At the height of crab season."_

Where the hell did that come from? Dini was _not_ Kristen - not even close. He didn't even want to make that comparison.

Edward picks out two pillows. One to lay his head on, and the other to lay on his chest as he drifts off so that he can imagine it's the daughter he misses so acutely. . .

But then he is startled awake by the sound of a sliding glass door opening and sits up quickly in order to assess the threat.

But, it's only Martin. Edward puts on his glasses and starts to read the slips of paper that Martin starts handing him.

* I know you're sad *

* About baby Kristen *

A lump forms in Edward's throat.

* Can I draw something for you? *

"Sure, bud," Edward answers, even though he's exhausted. "Let me just rest my eyes while you do that."

Edward falls back onto the sofa and clutches the pillow to his chest - the Kristen pillow.

Martin settles in, sitting on the floor, his back supported by the hard wicker leg of the sofa that Edward is 'resting his eyes' on. When he's done with his drawing, he pokes him awake.

Edward removes the glasses that he had fallen asleep in so he can rub the sleep out of his eyes and then he rolls over to face the young boy, putting his glasses back on.

"What do we have here?" he asks him and Martin hands him the drawing.

Edward gasps when he sees what Martin has drawn.

It's a baby floating in a tank with long, dark, flowing mermaid hair. She's got three eyes and four arms. Kristen.

Edward brings his hand to his mouth. "How do you know what she looked like?"

Martin shrugs.

* Daddy told me *

"Thank you, Martin," Edward says, removing his glasses once again. "I've gotta get some rest now. I'm so tired. . . "

He flops back over to the position he had been in before, clutching the pillow to his chest - except this time, the drawing of his child is underneath it. He holds it fast to his heart.

" _Okay, you two stop roughhousing and go to bed now," Edward says sternly to the two dark-haired girls jumping on the bed. It has a yellow bedspread. "I don't want to have to come up here again."_

" _Awww. . ." The ten year old puts her glasses back on - they had gotten knocked off and fallen to the floor in her exuberance - and the four year old crosses all four of her arms and pouts. Part of her hair had come loose from her updo and gets caught up in her arms._

" _Here, sweetheart," Edward says. "Let me fix that."_

 _He takes the piece that has fallen out and braids it. He has become a master at this - his youngest daughter's hair is always coming loose._

" _There," he says, tucking it back into her main topknot with some bobby pins. "That shouldn't come loose now when you sleep."_

 _He turns back to his oldest daughter. "Have you checked your blood sugar yet? It's bedtime."_

" _No. . ." she whines._

" _Then hop to it. Let's go!"_

Edward awakens with the pillow still held tightly to his chest and spies two pieces of paper left for him to read on the floor in front of him.

* Dini isn't Kristen but she's still a good kid *

* Please make Daddy stop loving you so he can love someone else and be happy *

Edward picks up the knife - that knife - from the table in the pool house before leaving. He despises it's cool feel in his palm, yet something inside of him urges him to take it back, to let it re-enter his life . . . and he succumbs.


	67. Chapter 67

As Edward and Oswald are reviewing some documents in Oswald's office, Edward can't help but goad him.

"So . . . you call him 'Willie'? Is that a regular thing now, or . . ?"

Oswald just growls, not looking up from the forged paperwork that Edward has brought to him. He abruptly changes the subject to one he's more comfortable with. Money.

"So this Pence estate?" Oswald points at the property deeds on his desk.

"Yes," Edward beams. "That is one of the vulnerable, yet still valuable estates that I recently uncovered in the files you gave me to look through. Let's see it's worth . . ."

Edward shoves his glasses up his nose as he flips a piece of paper over in his notebook, finding what he's looking for right away.

"I found it! It's worth approximately two million dollars."

"Two million dollars!" Oswald exclaims. "That's a far cry from what the Wayne estate is worth! It's paltry."

"Not exactly," Edward tries to explain. "There are quite a lot of what I like to call mini-millionaires' in Gotham. Those with real assets between one and five million dollars. Not everyone invests in property or companies as you well know - and there's not a lot of Bruce Waynes here in Gotham. I say we pick off all the little ones -"

"But I want part of the Wayne estate!" Oswald cries out like a petulant child.

"I'll do what I can," Edward replies. "But we have to be careful. We should only pick off properties within the estate that Bruce Wayne has never really paid attention to."

"Well, with the state that Gotham is currently in, I'd say he's quite distracted _right now_. So, I say we take it all!"

"That's not wise, Oswald. When Jeremiah's dust settles - and it WILL settle - we want you to own these properties outright - with little question. And if you get greedy with the Wayne estate -"

"I know. I know. Blah. Blah. Blah." Oswald waves a hand carelessly in the air. "This topic grows tiresome - especially because it's plain what I want out of this little endeavor of ours, but we've never talked about what _you_ want out of it, Edward."

Edward ignores him and changes the subject. "What's up with you calling your new found friend 'Willie,' Oswald? You told me that you hated him sometimes, yet 'Willie' sounds like a pretty friendly nickname to me. I mean, you're not calling him 'baby snatcher' or

'dad replacer' -"

"Will you let it drop?"

"You appear to be more fond of him than you've let on."

"Shut up!" Oswald snarls.

"Oh, have a hit a sore spot?" Edward chuckles.

"We were talking about YOU. Now, if you could be so kind as to tell me - besides money - what do you hope to gain from conspiring with me?"

Edward frowns slightly. His best friend is overfond of that word. He even considers friendship some grand conspiracy . . . at least that's how Martin tells it.

Edward drums his fingers on the desk. "What do I want? Hmm. . ."

"The question is not that difficult."

"No, it's not, you're right. I just want what anyone else would want I guess: Praise, accolades, a satisfying way to kill people."

"A way to kill people?" Oswald's eyebrows go up.

"Yes, I've got to feed my dark side."

"Do you even have another side?" Oswald asks.

"Of course I do," Edward answers.

"Oh. . ." Oswald feigns new understanding. "Because of _her_."

"No, Oswald. It was always there."

"Such a shame. You could be such a good villain if only you were willing to let that part of yourself go." Oswald waves mockingly. "Bye, bye!"

"I AM a good villain."

"Then prove it. Tonight at The Riddle Factory. I need some more secrets exposed."

"Not a problem."

Edward smiles just thinking about how wonderful it is to wear his newly favorite suit as it sparkles green upon the stage, and about how fabulous it is to torture Oswald's enemies per the instructions that The Wheel of Misfortune turns out - some to the death. And now - thanks to William's tunnels and having Query 'on tap' - he'll be able to do those things any time he wants. The Riddle Factory will always be there for him thanks to Oswald.

"But seriously, Edward," Oswald says, leaning forward over his desk. "Everything you just mentioned that you want from me, The Riddle Factory can easily provide - and I can easily give that to you. Too easily. So, isn't there something more you want than that? Isn't there something else you NEED?"

"Home."

The word is out of his mouth before he even has time to think it.

"Oswald, I want you to know that this place - your place - feels like home to me."

Oswald's eyes grow moist.

"This estate holds the memory of us working together splendidly when you were the mayor - and it was where I landed after you had rescued me from that madhouse." Edward points outside. "It also holds the memories of my daughter in that pool house, and the shelter you provided after her passing."

Now it's time for Edward's eyes to grow moist, and he pauses for a bit and looks down.

"But, you need to know it's not my only home."

"Oh?"

"Our house in Beachview - grotesquely cream-colored though it is - is also a home to me. My home with Lee," Edward says. "I know it seems like we've been in exile, being so far away from Gotham. And we are."

Edward takes in a deep breath, still not meeting Oswald's eye.

"I've been meaning to tell you something, Oswald." He looks back up at his best friend tentatively. "As a couple, Lee and I have made a decision to never move back to Gotham."

Oswald's face twists into an odd little frown before he speaks again.

"Well, it's a good thing Willie finished the tunnels to BioTech Bay, then. You can still get back here quickly whenever that homicidal urge of yours strikes. Pretty sure Lee wouldn't approve of you leaving random bodies all around down there."

"Ozzie, did you need me for something?" William tucks his head into the open door of the study. "I thought I heard my name."

"Ozzie," Edward mouths to his best friend, his brows raised in a silent question.

"Oh, stop," Oswald mouths back. Then turns to William and says, "No, we're all good here. Thank you, William."


	68. Chapter 68

"This is all she needs?" Edward asks William backstage, pointing to the small strip of buttermilk and gauze still clinging to Query's wrist. "To stay in thrall?"

"To me, yes," William replies. "She'll follow you for a while because I've told her to, but she will ultimately remain in thrall to me - always."

"So what you're saying, is, the show can't go on unless you let it."

William nods. "Precisely."

"Oswald," Edward mutters under his breath, shaking his head, then settling his bowler hat atop it. There was always some kind of catch with that one. Query wasn't 'on tap' as advertised. Query would only be available to him if Oswald wished it to be so.

"Oswald?" William asks.

"He's running the show as usual. You and I are just his circus animals." Edward tugs at his gloves.

"I don't think -"

"Would you do anything he asked of you?" Edward inquires of the well-built man, as he stares him down, daring him to lie.

"Well, I -"

"Would you _ever_ refuse a request of his?"

William just stammers.

"Better question." Edward interrupts him, holding up a finger, having just thought of something. " _Have_ you ever refused a request of his?"

"No."

"See, you're in thrall to him. Willingly."

William shuffles his feet, briefly looking down and scratching the back of his neck. It looks as if he's contemplating this uncomfortable truth.

"You do as Oswald says . . . and then in turn, your control the buttermilk zombies like Query." Edward tsks. "If only Oswald was in thrall to someone. . ."

"I think he already is." William says darkly as his chin goes up. Suddenly he seems kind of . . . angry.

"What do you mean?"

"Query is _yours_ , Edward. Just follow the logic." William turns and leaves Query and Edward standing alone in the dimly lit wings.

* * *

"Query, if you please, it's time to spin 'The Wheel of Misfortune!'"

The audience joins The Riddler in calling out the end of that sentence as he spins his staff dramatically. Once he's done and the tip of it stops abruptly, poking straight down into the stage, he holds out a hand for his assistant.

Query flounces forward to take his hand, turns her back to the audience, and ooops! She's exposed her bum with a quick flip of pink feathers. The audience goes wild.

And then she's covered again, with nothing amiss, as she stands there in her emerald green sequined dress, which had been constructed perfectly to match his suit. There's not a feather to be seen as she turns to face the audience once again. Query is definitely more of a crowd pleaser than Ecco ever was - and she's nowhere near as quiet. Edward is loving every minute with her onstage.

Query gives The Riddler a seductive smile as she releases his hand, saunters over to the wheel, and then asks him, "Why. . . do you mean this wheel, Mr. Riddler?"

"I do," he answers her.

She gently places a hand upon a cocked hip and pouts. "But, what's in it for _me_?"

"I'll ask Penguin not to kill you." There was no point in denying their alliance any more.

"Oooh, a naughty boy," Query points at him and winks. "I like that. I'll spin it for you, sugar."

The crowd erupts into cheers.

The two had quickly established their banter on the fly. Edward quite enjoys Query's sass and is incredibly pleased that it is going over so well with the crowd. If this is what she's like when she's dead, she must have been fabulous when she was alive. Perhaps her charm will make these people want to stay longer than last time so he can squeeze some more information out of them and not be frightened off by a betrayal here or there.

Query tugs The Wheel with yet another little flounce - how does she do that? - and it spins ominously as Headhunter stands before it. He had betrayed his good pal, Victor Zsasz, and in turn Oswald. And that was intolerable.

The Wheel lands where The Riddler had decided it would.

 _Pulling Your Fingernails Off with a Rusty Spoon_

He faces the audience, laughing and clapping. "Oh this is going to be a good one, folks."

Headhunter looks confused. Confused, and frankly terrified.

"You see," The Riddler continues. "We have a special guest coming to the stage JUST to deliver that rusty spoon. Yes, indeed!"

Victor Zsasz steps out from the wings, holding up a long, slender spoon with a small head that had been made of stainless steel. It is, as advertised, rusty. It had been dipped in acid to fit the theme - it's all for show, really - stainless steel doesn't like to rust under normal conditions. But, the audience doesn't have to know that.

"And what have we here, my good friend?" The Riddler places a hand on Zsasz' shoulder. Edward never liked this guy - so inwardly he's squirming. He's gonna have to take a nice, long shower after the show.

"This," Zsasz says ominously and holds up the spoon so that Headhunter can easily see what it is.

The hushed crowd waits for him to continue.

Shaking visibly, Zsasz says in his non-ironically ironic voice, "This is the spoon we shared during our little ice cream date, Wendell. Do you remember that?"

"Oooh. . . Bad romance gone wrong?" The Riddler teases.

Query says, "Looks more like a 'bad guy' romance gone wrong to me."

The crowd laughs as she cocks her hip once more. Where's a rim shot when you need one?

"This is NOT a laughing matter," Zsasz insists.

"Always so serious, this one," The Riddler says, shaking his head and patting Zsasz' shoulder condescendingly. "Tsk, tsk."

"Here," Zsasz shoves the spoon into The Riddler's hand. "Make him do it."

"Victor, please," Headhunter says, his arms outstretched. "This is all just a misunderstanding. Give me a chance to explain."

Zsasz crosses his arms and glares at his former friend, unmoved by his plea.

"Here at The Riddle Factory, we don't believe in misunderstandings." The Riddler catches a glimpse of something backstage that makes him falter almost imperceptibly. "We believe in punishment."

The crowd goes wild as Query takes the spoon from The Riddler and puts her arm around Headhunter in the only the way she knows how to - with her signature sass.

But . . .

Who _is_ that back there?


	69. Chapter 69

"You have a new assistant," Jeremiah says, pushing Ecco forward. The Riddler and Query had just stepped backstage for intermission and were definitely not expecting to see them there.

"Jeremiah, that's very kind, but as you can see I already have one -"

"Yes, you do. Ecco."

Ecco had already started removing pieces of Query's costume.

"Edward?" Query sounds frightened and she's still in thrall to him - she's still his responsibility. At that moment, he can actually feel the tug of their connection. He knows that he needs to find a way out of this. Safely. For both of them. He's never seen Jeremiah face to face before and it is quite . . . frightening.

"Uh, hey there, Jeremiah, you don't look much like an engineer," Edward tries to jest, tries to keep it light. Oh, damn, where was William and his Scarab Army when you needed him?

"Looks can be deceiving." Jeremiah brings a hand up to his garishly white face as he leans into Edward. He looks . . . poisoned. "Rumor has it that I looked like my twin brother once. But I'm _nothing_ like him."

Ecco has Query almost completely stripped now and she's standing there, arms over her bare chest, wearing nothing but her pink feathers and shivering.

"I won't be needing those," Ecco says, looking down at them condescendingly.

"No, you won't, dear," Jeremiah says and holds out a hand to her. As Ecco takes it and tucks herself into his chest, he kisses the top of her head. "You're perfect just as you are."

Perfect? While wearing Query's costume which was not even designed for her? Right. Edward wonders whose blood will end up ruining it tonight.

These two are even more repulsively disturbing than Butch and Tabby had ever been. Where did Jeremiah - The Destroyer of Gotham - this grotesque freak standing before him - find a willing consort? Edward suppresses a need to shudder. It's obvious that Ecco's a willing partner. And that's practically unfathomable.

Ick.

He shakes his head and forces his mind not to go there. Instead, he visualizes that nice, long, cleansing shower that he's going to need to take back at Oswald's. The night can't be over soon enough.

"We're ready," Jeremiah says.

"Uh . . . for what?" Edward asks.

"We're going onstage. I'm your next contestant."

"You want to match wits . . ." Edward says, astounded at this turn of events, ". . . with me?"

"Yes," Jeremiah answers.

"Why?" Edward asks, his eyes narrowing.

"I have something for you."

There's no way that can be good.

"On with the show!" declares Jeremiah, putting on his wide brimmed hat and stepping out into the limelight.

"Hey, that's my line!" Edward grumbles under his breath as he reluctantly follows the deranged man who considers himself more of a builder than a destroyer out onto the stage, hoping that William is paying close attention.

This could be his big chance to take out Jeremiah . . .

. . . or alternatively, they could all die.


	70. Chapter 70

The audience gasps as they see who has vaulted himself onto the stage in front of The Riddler.

Jeremiah takes Ecco's hand and they perform a quick bow for the audience before Edward can even make it to center stage himself. He notices that Jeremiah's forced smile and the stage lights make him look even more perturbing.

And apparently, the audience feels the same way. They don't clap. Instead, they get out of their seats and try to flee.

Jeremiah holds up a remote device - clear for all to see. "No, no, good people of Gotham. You're not going anywhere - lest you want to set off one of the booby traps I've installed within this theater."

Some people sit back down, but not all of them. Some are still standing at the exits, hesitating. Edward looks up at Oswald and William - neither of them have moved.

"Hmm. . . Let's see," Jeremiah inspects the remote device carefully. "You obviously need a demonstration of my ill will."

He presses a button and suddenly, one of the doors - the one with the most people clustered around it - bursts out into the auditorium, killing everyone in its wake. The crowd watches in horror as the upper part of the theater slowly collapses into the open hole that the explosion had created. And that includes Oswald's box.

 _ **Oswald!**_

Edward's heart races as he watches its slow descent. If it remains slow, no one is likely to get hurt, but if it doesn't . . .

He can see Oswald start to panic, yet William, seated right beside him, remains calm - calm and fierce - locking eyes with the deranged man on stage. Jeremiah is going down if the look on William's face is any indication. If not tonight, then sometime in the future - Edward is sure of it.

But he wishes his best friend would stop panicking - he's going to upset -

And then, everything comes to a screeching halt. Literally, a screeching halt.

Oswald visibly breathes a sigh of relief as the upper part of the auditorium stops falling and accepts William's comforting hug. Edward can almost make out Oswald saying "I thought we were going to die!" as they part.

Always so dramatic, his best friend is.

Everyone who had been out of their seats now returns to them like chastised children.

"Good," Jeremiah says smugly. "Now where were we?"

"Well, you've come to The Riddle Factory, Jeremiah, so I'm assuming you're here for some Riddle Time?" Edward quips.

"I'm here to give you some information."

"Oh?" Edward looks up at Oswald and William. Both look as confused as he is.

Jeremiah holds up one of the tiniest data storage devices he's ever seen. He has Ecco place it under the heel of his boot, with a threat to crush it if Edward can't answer his riddle.

The Riddler gives him a smug grin. It's not likely that data will be lost. Jeremiah's supposed to be smart, but Edward knows he won't be able to beat him at _this_ game. He's a man of science and engineering, not words. And there's no way he'll be able to beat him in his own house, The Riddle Factory.

"Ecco," Jeremiah lifts a hand to his partner.

She nods and tugs on The Riddler's sleeve.

"What?"

"Step up to The Wheel," she commands softly.

"What? Why?"

She cocks her head towards Jeremiah and says quietly, "Do you really want to find out what will happen if you don't?"

"Uh . . . uh." Edward is still hesitating as she drags him up there and pushes him hard against the huge wooden disk. "Ow!"

His hat falls off and he loses his staff, too.

Edward doesn't dare move as Ecco ties him firmly to the wheel because Jeremiah has locked eyes with him yet once again - threateningly. He doesn't care to find out what would happen if he doesn't comply.

"Ecco, if you please," Jeremiah calls out, lifting a hand. She replies with a nod and pulls down on the wheel.

Everyone watches silently as The Riddler goes round and round upon The Wheel of Misfortune, upside down and back up again. It's going to take forever to stop, but Edward already knows what position it's going to stop in. Upside down - and he's not sure he likes the thought of that.

"What, no applause?" Jeremiah demands of the crowd.

So then, it comes. Restrained clapping. Terrified clapping. The clapping of those who aren't truly amused.

And finally, the wheel picks a direction - the one he knew it would. Edward's head swings back and forth like the bottom of a pendulum as the wheel slows down. He feels a little seasick. Intuitively, he looks up at Oswald with a plea in his eyes, even though in his heart he knows his friend can't help him.

Oswald responds by covering his fist with his mouth. Even from down at the bottom of The Wheel, Edward can tell that he is shaking.

"Ah, we finally have you in a conducive position to answer my riddle." Jeremiah laughs. "Plenty of blood flowing to the brain."

Ecco takes a little curtsy. Edward's stomach turns at seeing her in Query's sparkling green dress from this angle. It has lost it's flounce without the feathers and just hangs about her tiny form limply.

"Edward -" Jeremiah starts.

Edward interrupts him with a growl. "My name is _The Riddler_."

"Oh, than what shall we call _me_ , then?" Jeremiah asks.

Not a single word is uttered in response. From anyone.

"Just get on with this little joke of yours," Edward says impatiently, the pressure of being hung upside down is already starting to get to him.

" _Joke?_ Do you think this is a _joke_?" Jeremiah storms up to The Wheel. For a second, Edward is convinced that he's going to suffer for his insolence . . .

. . . but then, Jeremiah turns and takes Ecco's hand gently as he leads her back downstage. They are both laughing maniacally.

If he wasn't feeling so endangered, Edward might flippantly suggest they try a lovely stay in Arkham for their next vacation. But wait - Jeremiah has destroyed that, too. He had let all the inmates run free. Edward wonders if that's where he found Ecco. She's as crazy as he is.

"'The Joker,' I like that," Jeremiah says to Ecco, and then turns back to Edward and laughs. "We'll go with that. You can call me 'The Joker' from now on."

 _O - kay._

"Now, 'Riddler'. Riddle me this," Jeremiah begins. "Since you and I are both men of science and I do like to do a little building . . ."

He pauses to smile at the few people in the audience who laugh at that - the sick, deranged ones.

"Wait, you have to tell me the rules," The Riddler interrupts.

"Now why should I do that?" Jeremiah replies. "You think I'm a Joker. I don't have to tell you the rules at all - the joke's on you!"

Edward groans and rolls his eyes. Was that supposed to be some kind of pun?

Jeremiah begins laughing at his own 'wit' as if he's coming unhinged. He is the only one laughing. Is it for show - to terrify the audience - or is he legitimately coming apart in front of everyone?

"Back to the riddle," Jeremiah says abruptly, halting his own laugh. "It's a melding of construction and science. A welding puzzle, if you will. See what I did there?"

Welding?

No, Jeremiah definitely does not know how to wield language as well as science. That is the worst attempt at a pun Edward thinks he's ever heard. Jeremiah's attempts to be funny, to be witty, are clumsy and only serve to make this entire ordeal absolute _torture._ Still, Edward does not dare voice this sentiment - he _is_ after all hanging upside down because of this maniac.

Jeremiah paces upon the stage, waxing poetic. Edward hopes he doesn't step on the data as he does so. "Welding - where construction and chemistry meet."

Chemistry meets with a **lot** of other disciplines.

"Let's talk about flux. It's a simple concept, really -"

"You don't need to explain it to me," Edward growls. His head is really starting to hurt, and he's begun to breathe funny. He needs to get back upright. "Just get on with the show."

"Okay, my impatient friend, riddle me this: What element, when dropped into hydrochloric acid produces -"

Jeremiah pauses dramatically to take in a deep breath before turning back face to the crowd.

"An explosive gas!" he cries out, throwing his arms back.

As anticipated, they gasp.

He chuckles and continues. "Hydrogen, a crowd favorite, apparently. And mine."

"A lot of single displacement reactions with hydrochloric do that, Jeremiah," Edward says impatiently. "You're going to have to be a bit more specific."

"Oh, I'm getting there," he replies and raises a finger. "So, once you add enough of this element to the hydrochloric acid – effectively saturating it - the solution emits no more gas at all. Which is why it was known colloquially as 'killed spirits.' Like the people of Gotham, no?"

Jeremiah smiles at the few sick fucks that are actually laughing at that - again.

"Okay, Riddler. Name that element!?"

"How is this related to flux again?"

"Why, the solution known as 'killed spirits' is one of the most popular fluxes used in welding and soldering today! You just probably know it by another name."

Edward shakes his head. He has no idea what the punishment for failure is, but he knows what the prize for solving this riddle is. If Jeremiah feels the need to deliver his information in this sick and twisted manner, it must be important. He closes his eyes and works his way through Jeremiah's riddle that's not even a riddle. He shakes his head - there's no real word play to it at all – it's not much more than a simple chemistry problem at its core. He may be a genius, but Jeremiah is certainly no wordsmith.

Edward is dying to know what's on that data storage device. He takes in a breath and prepares to give him the answer.

* * *

 _Yes, the riddle/chemistry problem once again IS MINE! :-) Stay tuned for the answer tomorrow - or if you already know it, leave a comment! (and expose yourself as a fellow lover of chemistry like me Muahahaha)_


	71. Chapter 71

"The element is -"

Edward's brain quickly accesses his knowledge of historical names for various chemical solutions and how they were known to be used.

"- Zinc!"

Jeremiah gives The Riddler a nod. "Correct."

"I _know,_ " he replies. "Now can you get me off this thing?"

"Surely." Jeremiah holds out his hand, indicating to Ecco that it is time to pry The Riddler from The Wheel.

She doesn't even turn him upright first before she unties him and he goes toppling to the stage. Ugh.

Ecco does a poor imitation of Query's 'oops!' to no effect. The crowd remains silent.

Stubbornly, Edward stays seated on the rough wooden floor of the stage beside The Wheel. He has no idea where his staff has gone and has no intentions of letting on to Ecoo and Jeremiah just how badly he needs it. Like his father had taught him - show no weakness in the face of predators. And these two were most definitely predators.

"The data," The Riddler says strongly, holding out his hand to the fiendish man, this Joker. "I've earned it."

"So you have," Jeremiah replies. He gives a sideways nod to Ecco who goes over to him, kneels down, and gently lifts the heel of his boot to extract the data storage device from beneath it. Somehow she makes it look like some bizarre fetish ritual. Perhaps it's because she's licking her lips as she looks up at Jeremiah the entire time. . .

But wait. How had it ended up back under his boot?

Edward looks out into the crowd. And where had Oswald and William gone? They were no longer in their seats. A sense of worry, of dread, fills the pit of his stomach. There's no way Jeremiah hadn't noticed the same thing he has.

"Ecco, please give the man his reward."

She marches over to Edward and drops the tiny thing into the palm of his hand. Then she says so quietly that no one but him can hear, "There's something of interest to you in these plans. You'll want to check them out for yourself."

"Plans?"

She nods and then cackles, "The question mark marks the spot!"

Jeremiah calls out "END SHOW!" and the lights immediately go out.

Edward hears the swishing of the heavy curtain as he sits alone on the now-vacant stage, no hat, no staff, and no clue as to what had actually transpired.


	72. Chapter 72

Strong arms lift him up and a cold hand finds his, putting his staff in it. He knows that hand - it's Oswald's.

How did they . . ?

"Can you guys see in the dark?"

Edward hears William's deep belly laugh.

"Quiet!" he hears Oswald hiss at him lowly before he places his hat in his hands.

"Of course I can see, my friend. I've got my 'eyes.'"

Something makes Edward look up and he almost cries out in fright. Tiny red eyes are looking down at him from all over the ceiling, the walls. And they're in the rigging, on the catwalk - even on the curtain. He shivers. Jeremiah isn't the only thing that gives him the heebie-jeebies that night.

As the three of them find their way out into the dimly lit street, Edward notices the golden sun disk-shaped fan strapped to William's belt. It is open. He hadn't seen it since that first night when William had made an attempt to explain his Scarab Army to him. He watches him take it up into both of his hands - it IS heavy, Edward remembers that - and then he snaps it closed and bows his head.

"Thank you, my people."

"People?" Edward asks.

Oswald grabs him by the elbow and whispers, "Sometimes I find it best not to ask too many questions."

"Yes," William says and nods. "My eyes, my people, my 'buttermilk zombies', as you call them. My Scarab Army."

"So then, those were actually . . ?"

"Eyes? Yes. People? Yes."

"People can't hang from the curtains like that."

"No, but eyes can, my friend. Eyes can." William claps him on the back and they make their way to Oswald's waiting car.

Edward notices that he can't feel his connection to Query anymore - William must have revoked it - and he has no idea where she's gone. He hopes she's okay.

He had greatly enjoyed having her as his assistant at The Riddle Factory that night - she's the best one he's gotten to work with so far. The two of them had more razzle dazzle onstage than he and Lila ever had. But he really hadn't cared for Ecco. Not the first time - and especially not the last. He didn't care to be a pawn in a game run by someone else.

* * *

"I don't care what you say, Oswald, I'm going in," Edward says emphatically after they had all taken a look at what was on the data storage device. It had contained blueprints for one of Professor Strange's facilities, complete with a green question mark flashing over one particular office. He needs to know what's there.

"Are you crazy!?" Oswald replies.

"Apparently," Edward says, smiling over at William. "That's the type of company you like to keep."

"But it's a trap!" Oswald says, his hands shaking, worry written all over his face.

"Of course, it is," answers Edward. "But that it matter. I'm still going, Oswald."

"Jeremiah basically gives you a map and says 'go look here' and you just say 'okay'?" Oswald groans in frustration.

"Oswald, it's the facility you found. The same one you brought me up here to investigate in the first place, remember? There was talk of 'white goo,' if you recall."

"That was before Jeremiah thought it was a good idea to send you there on the world's most deadly treasure hunt!"

"I need to know, Oswald."

"Of course, you do." Oswald throws his hands in the air then turns to William. "Can you do anything about this?"

"Well, I do know that at this time, Professor Strange is not at that location," he answers.

"And how is that helping, Willie?"

Edward snaps his fingers. "I know."

"Please, enlighten us," Oswald says sarcastically. "I can't see how you can possibly be happy about that. Your personal mission is to take him down, remember?"

"Precisely!" Edward says. "And I won't be distracted by that. I can focus on this puzzle that Jeremiah has left for me instead."

"Ugh," Oswald throws back his head and rolls his eyes. "He's going to get himself killed, William, do you realize that?"

"N -"

Oswald cuts him off before he can even answer and turns to Edward again. "Do you really think you're any match for that Ecco person?"

"Physically, no. But Tabby is."

"Tabitha Galavan? Tabitha Galavan? You're going to bring her along on this little quest of yours?"

"Well, she has been pestering me about getting her revenge on Strange, too, and this may placate her for a bit. I can use this little expedition to convince her that we're making progress."

"Okay, okay. But she'd better not die. I need her alive for my revenge."

"So, you've figured out your strategy for that, then?"

"No!" Oswald says defensively. "But if Tabitha dies on this fool's errand, then no one gets revenge on anyone."

"I promise to keep her alive. And myself, too."

"How? You're no match for Jeremiah."

"Are you talking physically or mentally?" Edward asks, almost insulted. "I just beat him, you know."

"Knowing you two, that was just a simple chemistry problem. No more than one and one equaling two for you guys. Jeremiah GAVE you that information, Edward. You know that. Everything else was just for show. He's luring you."

"Duly noted."

"And?" Oswald asks.

"And what?"

"What are you going to do when you fall into his trap, huh? Tell me, how do you plan to get out of it, genius?"

"I won't get trapped," Edward replies.

"Really now?"

"I've got chemistry on my side."

"Apparently," Oswald stammers. ". . . so does he!"

"I'll be fine, Oswald," Edward says, grasping his shoulders to steady him. "Stop being such a little hen."

William's brows come together in confusion, not understanding their exchange.

"It's a compliment," Edward says to him as he prepares to head out. "Over time, William, you'll come to understand just how much he has in common with his mother."


	73. Chapter 73

Edward meets Tabby just outside the Sirens club in the "safe to be a man" zone. It's only barely safe to be a man there, so he hides in the shadows until he sees her and then pops out, startling her.

"Damn!" she exclaims. "So, you finally showed."

"Yes, I'm here at your insistence -"

"You've got a bead on Professor Strange?" she interrupts.

"Yes," Edward says. "His new facility is now in an abandoned area of what was formerly known as Ace Chemicals."

"What's it known as today?"

"Jeremiah's Playground."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, they've got clowns down there that juggle and everything."

Tabby just gives him a wry look and shakes her head.

"Let's go."

* * *

Jeremiah's blueprints had been dead-on. Accurate up to the tiniest of details. It had been easy to find the office that had borne the flashing question mark. All too easy.

"Wait outside and cover me," Edward tells Tabby. "I think there's something in here that might tell us where Strange is right now."

"Gotcha," Tabby says, and stands guard.

Edward slips inside - having the distinct feeling that this must be a trap. And he can't shake it. The foreboding had been building since they had first stepped foot in this place. Gaining access and going unnoticed had been all too easy. Even though this place is like a maze, there are so many places to hide along the way, clearly indicated on the blueprints that Jeremiah had provided.

Edward has the distinct feeling of being watched even though he should be alone in that very office that is supposed to hold something of interest to him. He'd better solve this puzzle - and _fast._ What exactly did Jeremiah want him to find here?

"Mommy?" a little boy's plaintive voice can clearly be heard on the facility's overhead speakers.

Tabby pokes her head into the office, suddenly anxious. "Nygma, that's my boy. I have to go find him."

Panic clenches Edward's gut immediately. "NO! Tabby, wait! It's a trap - Cyrus is gone."

But his words go unheard and unheeded. The Tigress is off chasing the mirage that is her son's voice. Edward shakes his head at this turn of events, knowing that he has to figure out why Jeremiah had sent him to this very office - QUICKLY.

The office's most prominent features offer no clue. A desk, a monitor, a coat rack, a chair -

Then Edward pulls open a desk drawer and his heart almost stops. He lifts a shaking hand to his breathless mouth. The other hand doesn't dare to touch them.

Remotes.

One labeled "Shiva" the other labeled . . .

"Kali"

"Kristen," he breathes with his first returning breath and he has to grip both sides of the desk to keep his feet from coming out from under him in a faint. His staff falls to the floor.

That tiny piece of black plastic sitting so innocuously in the drawer below him had been the instrument of his daughter's death and the sight of it pierced him like a knife. But now, Edward's heart pounds and he can barely see it, so awash with tears are his eyes.

And then he hears it - the voice he has dreaded since his feet first made contact with the hard cement floor in this place - Jeremiah's.

"I see you found her."

* * *

 _Inclement weather has been forecasted for where I live - we're expecting massive power outtages as two storms come in back to back over the next week (it's already started to snow). Our power goes out easily even when its NOT forecasted (so many tall trees in this area), so this pretty much guarantees that our power will be going out soon, probably for quite a while. Since I'll have intermittent access to the internet (if I have any at all - the last time we had storms like this many areas were without power for a solid week), I'm going to postpone posting any new chapters of this fic until next weekend. Take care everyone! Stay warm. :-)_


	74. Chapter 74

_This fic will begin posting every other day to make room for some Season 5 inspired Nygmakins goodies (drabbles, ficlets, and one-shots)_ _that will occasionally be sprinkled in between chapters. Any additional multi-chaper Nygmakins fic will be posted after the Personalities series wraps up._

* * *

"Wipe your eyes, and look at the screen, Edward," Jeremiah says handing him his staff and a series of brightly colored handkerchiefs all tied together - pulled from his vest as if he's some kind of circus clown.

"No, thank you," Edward says to the proffered handkerchiefs and reaches instead for the Kleenex box on the desk before wiping his eyes under the rims of his glasses. So much for not showing any weakness to this villain. He takes his glasses all the way off and reaches for a lens cloth that he has in his pocket, planning to clean them next.

"I'd wait on that if I were you," Jeremiah says. "You might miss it."

Edward puts his tear-stained glasses back on, curious. They're not so bad that he can't see, but he can't believe what Jeremiah is wanting him to watch through the tears he has just shed for his daughter on the monitor that's suddenly sprung to life.

White goo.

Yes, white goo that is somehow coalescing into -

Edward gasps and almost jumps back.

"Is that REAL?"

"Very real," Jeremiah answers. "I suggest you go see for yourself."

It's tempting, but -

Edward's pretty sure that's not why Jeremiah has led him to this office.

"What is this?" he demands, pointing at the remotes in the desk drawer.

"You know what those are."

Edward's heart clenches for a moment. Yes, he does. All too well. He takes in a breath to calm himself before asking, "Why did you lead me here?"

"Consider it a gift of good faith . . ." Jeremiah indicates the remotes. ". . . for the little bird. He can do the honors."

"What?"

"I don't care for things that don't stay dead."

Edward shivers and looks back at what had coalesced on the screen. Nothing seems to stay dead in Gotham. Except for his little girl . . .

Edward thinks of something. "Wait. Isn't Strange working for _you_? Creating these mutants for _your_ army? Why would you want -?"

"He is currently, but he wasn't at first. It took some. . . persuasion. Little boy Shiva was his own creation. He loves that kid . . ."

Edward thinks of Kristen and looks down at her remote, touches it - _Kali._ Strange had certainly not loved her. Edward's fingertip gently rests upon the button - Strange had had no qualms about pressing this. And no regrets.

"Why are you doing this?" Edward asks, looking back up.

"Like I said, it's an act of good faith," Jeremiah answers simply. "I want to form an alliance. It's no big secret that the bird wants the tabby cat to pay - and pay dearly. I can deliver that."

"Penguin is allied with the The Pharaoh," Edward resplies. "His allegiance won't switch so easily."

"Did not the little bird declare his love for you, Riddler?"

"I don't see what that -"

"And then he put you in a block of ice."

"He wanted revenge."

"Why?"

Edward stares back at him cold as ice himself. Jeremiah's not getting that answer out of him. Not ever.

"I'll tell you why, Mr. Nygma - because allegiances change. All the time. And who better to rebuild Gotham with than the man who knows the ins and outs of how it used to work in the first place?" Jeremiah smiles. "Besides, it's icing on the cake really that allying myself with him will weaken my enemy."

"Who's that?" Edward asks, already knowing the answer.

"Oh, just the burly professor who's lost his mind," Jeremiah laughs. "But then, we all have, haven't we?"


	75. Chapter 75

"Look, Nygma, he's alive! My son is alive!" Tabby exclaims excitedly when she sees him rounding the corner.

"Get out of the hallway," Edward warns. "I don't want to get caught."

The three of them cram into a supply closet right before a few security guards pass by. By his height alone, the boy now seems to be about twelve, but Edward hadn't gotten a good look at him.

He touches the remotes in his pocket. He can already differentiate them by feel. The label for Shiva is longer than the label for Kali. He takes Shiva's into his hand - Cyrus' remote. How easily he could take the young boy's life. Edward knows this is how Strange plans to halt his regeneration, should he ever need to terminate him permanently. He had built it into his version of Shiva and Kali from the beginning.

Edward's thumb moves over the button. Is this what it had felt like when Strange had taken Kristen's life? Was it this cold . . . this emotionless . . . this easy?

"Nygma, they're gone. I need to show you something - in the light. Cyrus -"

"Quiet," Edward hisses as more guards pass. He knows where they can go - they just have to wait until the coast is clear . . .

"Okay, follow me," he says and they make a break for an empty cell - one that's not surrounded by bars, but walls. And it's in a relatively deserted part of the facility. Edward hates to admit it, but he finds that he's grateful to Jeremiah for giving him such detailed plans.

* * *

"Just look what that monster did to my son!" Tabby exclaims.

"Shh," Edward says, "Keep your voice down. It isn't sound proof in here."

"Just look," she says, a bit quieter. "Look at his NECK."

He sits down on the bed in the cell - his leg aching from all the running around - and motions the boy over. Edward has him stand in front of him and tilt his head back so that he can check him out. Yes, Cyrus really _does_ look to be about twelve, possibly older. He wonders, given this kind of rapid aging, how long would Kristen have lived? The mere thought saddens him. His child's life would have likely been painfully brief, yet still, he wishes that he and Lee had gotten to spend more time with her.

"They made me drink Vasuki's venom," Cyrus tells him.

Edward whistles as he inspects the boy's neck, which is startlingly blue - standing out boldly against his dark skin, covered with ashes yet again, even though less than a half an hour ago he had been nothing more than a pile of white goo.

"Can you believe those monsters?" Tabitha fumes.

"Yes. Hugo Strange will do anything to make his mutants into the incarnations of whatever he's trying to achieve." Edward says as he vividly recalls how difficult it had been for Kristen to breathe - all because Strange had wanted her to have a protruding tongue. This blue throat of Cyrus' is no different. The god Shiva had a blue throat as well - from drinking poison. Edward is disgusted. "Strange is sick, deranged."

Cyrus starts crying.

Tabby pulls her boy into herself and hugs him. "What's wrong, baby?"

"They killed Vasuki after milking him, and he never came back," the boy wipes some of his tears away. "I miss him and the Professor won't bring him back."

 _And the Professor won't bring him back._

If Edward wasn't already sitting down, he'd need to. Professor Strange won't be bringing Kristen back either. He can't. Edward touches her remote this time. She won't be coming back because that door is now closed. Forever.

Young Cyrus doesn't understand impermanence because it's obvious that he keeps regenerating.

"Mommy can you please bring my snake back?"

 _Can you please bring Kristen back?_

"No, baby," Tabby says in a gentle voice. "We can talk about it later, but right now Mr. Nygma is going to help us find our way out, okay?"

"Wait a second . . ." Cyrus says, turning back towards Edward. He points accusingly at him. "You're the bad man."

Edward purses his lips. It had taken Cyrus quite a while to put two and two together and recall their first encounter - the one where he had caught him gassing his mother. Kristen had definitely been smarter than her counterpart. And so is he . . .

* * *

"You gaslighted them?" Oswald asks, exuberant.

"Yes," Edward replies.

"Both of them?"

"Look Oswald, Butch and Tabby weren't exactly what I would call pillars of the intellectual community. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

"Good," Oswald replies, rubbing his hands together. The two of them are in his office.

"My daughter was MUCH smarter than Tabby's boy," Edward says emphatically. He needs her to be remembered correctly.

"Of course, friend. Of course." Oswald smiles. "So where are we?"

"Tabitha's alive. Cut off from her cub, of course - he's still at the facility. So, she'll suffer the pain of separation."

"Good. Good."

"William's intel was good - Strange wasn't even there. So he and Jeremiah are in the wind for now."

Oswald nods a bit. "Unfortunate. But to be expected."

"And then there's this." Edward takes out the small black remote labeled 'Shiva' and slides it across the table.

"Is this -?"

"A remote to kill Cyrus so that he won't continue to rise from the ashes, or more accurately from the 'goo'?" Edward nods. "Yes, it is."

Oswald doesn't touch it - instead he reaches across the desk and takes his best friend's hand in his. Softly, he asks him, "Is this remote like the one Strange used to end Kristen's life?"

Edward squeezes his hand back and looks down. Shakily he whispers, "Yes."

"I'm so sorry you came across this."

"It's okay. I was supposed to."

Edward recounts his encounter with Jeremiah to Oswald and how Cyrus' remote is meant to be a gift for him - a peace offering, if you will - so that he will consider an alliance.

"No way," Oswald says. "I would _never_ do that to William.

"I know," Edward replies.

Oswald takes the remote in his hand, studies it.

"What are you going to do?" Edward asks him.

"Well, for one thing, I'm sure as hell not going to let this opportunity go to waste."

"Smart man."


	76. Chapter 76

Edward sits alone in the golden car that will carry him back to BioTech Bay in The South. And as his mind often does when he finds himself alone, it wanders. This time it wanders to Kristen and back again.

His child had died blue - he distinctly remembers that. In the end, Strange had gotten what he wanted when he had pulled the plug on her life - literally. Edward caresses the remote in his hand - the one that bears his daughter's false name - the one he and Lee had never given her - Kali.

One little press of the button - a pop of a plug between the chambers of her heart - and she had turned so very blue as the life had quickly drained away from her tiny form. She hadn't even cried. She had just looked shocked and scared as she struggled to hold on. Edward remembers that now - he had remembered it for quite some time actually - at least, in his dreams. But, back then he - or rather, _they_ \- were dealing with another crisis altogether. One that took them away from the present - away from being fully conscious as their daughter passed.

But now, he vividly recalls how his child had looked up at them - six people in two bodies - to save her from something _they_ couldn't even understand. Her dark eyes had been darting all over, telegraphing her terror to her impotent parents. Until they stopped moving altogether.

Until she had fully turned blue. . .

Edward jolts awake. His finger had inadvertently pressed the button when his car had been jostled. He looks down at his hand and the remote with the cream colored label 'Kali' stares back at him. He shivers and then tucks it away.

* * *

They are standing in the parking lot of Deque Discovery, waiting for him, leaning casually against a dark cherry car that looks like it wants to be driven way too fast. Both have shoulder-length, midnight black hair. And it doesn't take him long to figure out that they are both children. . . even the one in the adult body.

"Hop in!" She says, with a bit of a flounce to her walk that he's never seen before. Does she have a fourth personality now?

"Yeah, it's fun. So much fun!" Dini says with an enthusiastic nod before pushing up her glasses and climbing into the backseat.

"Okay," he answers. "I see you finally got yourself your own car."

"Yes, I did!" the driver says gleefully. "Red's my favorite color. Mommy -"

She interrupts herself, waving her hand dismissively in the air.

"Oh, never mind. You don't want to hear all that."

" _I_ do," Dini whines from the backseat. "I love hearing about your mommy."

Edward raises an eyebrow. Since _when?_

He suddenly feels very uncomfortable as a passenger in that car as he starts to suspect that the one who's in control of Lee's body is just a child.

"Whoah! Be careful there," he says nervously.

She gives him a pout, then a sardonic grin before she turns her attention back to the road. "You know, I watch. And I can feel. I know what I'm doing. I'm not asleep, you know."

"Why would you be asleep?" Dini asks.

"Please don't tell me you feel comfortable doctoring all those kids, though?" Edward says, ignoring Dini's question entirely.

"Of course not, Eddie." Her casual use of one of his childhood names confirms his suspicions - he's dealing with Leslie. "The other two know about a lot of things that I don't -"

"Like driving a car," Edward says pointedly.

Leslie tries to explain to Edward that she can drive because she's experienced it many times, but she wouldn't want to doctor anyone since that requires knowledge that the other two have that she doesn't.

"But you doctor people . . ." Dini sounds forlorn. "Why wouldn't you want to anymore?"

"Oh, shit," Edward says.

"What?" Dini says innocently.

"Dr. Thompkins isn't feeling herself right now, Dini," Edward says, trying to explain away Leslie's odd behavior without actually explaining it. Then with a pointed look at Leslie, he says, "I can tell because she just called me ' _Eddie'_."

"But she calls you that all the time . . . doesn't she?"" Dini says to Edward, who just drops his head in his hands.

"Oh, my God," Edward says. He does not need to be dealing with this right now. Neither Lee nor The Doc have come to the front yet. Something is seriously wrong. "Pull over."

"Why?" Leslie asks. "We're almost home."

"Pull over," Edward says, a dangerous tone in his voice. " _Now._ "

"Fine," Leslie says with a dramatic sigh. "You're such a drag, you know. Ever since you grew up. . ."

Edward doesn't respond to that.

"I used to have a little crush on you, Eddie," Leslie says in frustration as she pulls into a parking lot in Beachview. "But now? You're acting like my parent!"

* * *

"Leslie, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Edward had wanted to keep his voice down as he and Leslie had gotten out of the car so they could talk privately, but it's difficult. "With a child in the backseat, for god's sake!"

"I'm not doing anything wrong," Leslie replies in a more familiar voice - a little girl's voice. It's obvious that she's been pretending to be a grown up for Dini, which is why she had been using a more adult-sounding voice when they met up at BioTech Bay, and why it took him a bit longer than normal to figure out what was going on. "I like to play with Dini. She's lonely."

"What?!" Edward's jaw drops and just hangs there for a second. "Do you have any idea - ?"

"And I'm lonely, too."

 _Oh._

Edward steps forward and hugs her. "I'm sorry about that. But you - all three of you - know that even though I'll always have business in Gotham, I'll always return to you, right? I'm not going anywhere as long as you don't want me to."

Leslie pulls away and bats him on the arm. "I don't miss YOU, silly."

"Oh?" Edward asks, perplexed. "Then who _do_ you miss?"

"My mommy . . ." Tears start to form in her eyes. "Baby Kristen . . ."

"I do, too -"

"The Doc is gone."

Edward feels his heart drop to his feet.

"What?" he whispers. Has she died?

"She doesn't talk to us anymore, doesn't come to the front anymore. And Lee's batshit crazy. I'm lonely. Anyone would be. I told you I was the last one."

"The last sane one?"

"Yeah."

What a mess.


	77. Chapter 77

"So, you _don't_ wish to be a mother?" Edward presses her. They are at home, just the two of them.

"No, I told you -"

"What the hell are you doing with Dini, then?"

"I - I don't know." Lee hangs her head. "But I _don't_ want to have a child. I do know that."

"Then why are you treating her like she's ours, Lee?" He worries their actions are going to end up breaking that little girl's heart someday. Best not to get too close, even if they want to.

"It's not my idea to have her over here every day -"

Every day? Since when -?

"- that's been Leslie, all Leslie. Not me."

"So, she's in charge now?"

"Actually, yes," Lee answers. "She's _allowing_ me to come to the front talk to you right now. This is all her choice. Her will."

"Unbelievable. A child is in charge of _all_ of you then?"

"It's for the best."

"How so?"

"Well, as you know, The Doc has checked out and I. . ."

"What about you?"

"Leslie doesn't trust me not to do something crazy."

"Like what?"

Lee looks down and from sways side to side, looking for all the world like a guilty child herself.

"Lee. . ."

"She thinks I'm delusional." She juts up her chin. "But I disagree."

"And what have you done to make her think that, Lee?" Edward tries to cut through her denial.

"Well, Leslie thinks that if we play house, that we should be honest and admit that we're only playing. That it's all pretend."

"And?" He can tell that there's more.

"She thinks my recent baking fetish is some kind of delusion and doesn't want me to drag Dini into it, unsuspecting."

Dressing up like a classic homemaker and pretending it was his birthday just to act like they were a nuclear family had _definitely_ bordered on the delusional - among other things. Edward has to agree with Leslie.

"But I'm not crazy, Edward. You've seen me. You know."

"Okay, but - Leslie's been _inside_ of your head this entire time. If you're losing your grip on reality, she would know," Edward replies. "I'm sorry, Lee, but I'm going to have to trust her instincts on this one - not yours."

"Great. Now you're going to think I'm just like William," she grumbles.

"Not _exactly_ like William," Edward says and kisses her. Then, he holds her tight as they sway together in the kitchen for a bit. It is the very room she most often frequents to play out a life with Dini that she denies even wanting. "At least you, Lee, don't think that people and eyes are the same thing and let them crawl all over your curtains."

Lee pulls back for a second, almost laughing. "What . . . ?"

"Good," Edward replies with a smile. "See, at least you know that's crazy. William can't figure that out."

"Should I even ask?"

"No, just sway with me."

She turns her face to rest upon his chest and he strokes her glossy hair as they slowly turn as one in the sunny kitchen of their bungalow. But it's a somber little dance since Edward is beginning to get worried about losing her, too.

* * *

"Unbalanced?" Edward asks the next morning that he awakens to Lee. "What does that mean?"

"It's just . . . her drinking -" Lee flops her hands into her lap in resignation and stifles a sob.

"Wait. Leslie said she -"

"Yes, she's been quiet since you've been gone. She hasn't come to the front. Not even since you've returned."

"I wonder why . . ?"

"She, and therefore Leslie and I, haven't touched a drop in quite a while," Lee continues without answering his question. "It's nice not being hungover almost every day, but then I feel. . ."

"What, Lee?"

"It's hard to really put a name to it." Lee drums her fingers against her lips, thinking. "'Unbalanced' is still the best term for it, I guess. I can't think of anything else."

"So, then . . ?"

"At times, I think I'm losing my mind and there's no counterbalance anymore."

"What do you mean?"

"Whenever I'd start to really grieve for Kristen, she'd always been there. And now she's not. So, now I just tip . . ."

"Tip?"

"Yeah, I tip so easily into what Leslie - and apparently you - consider insanity. And there's no one to stop me."

"So, The Doc had been -"

"Keeping me level, yes. Grounded in reality. But then -"

"She started drinking heavily," Ed interrupts.

"Yes." Lee looks like she wants to cry. "That's when we started losing her. It was a slow progression until . . ."

"Until?"

"It just feels like she's gone now," Lee says woefully. "And I don't want her to be gone."

Edward takes her hand and whispers, "I don't, either."

They stay like that for a while, but then Edward moves, seating himself in front of her on the bed. He takes both of Lee's hands, but he wants to reach the other one inside of her. He places his forehead on hers, knowing that all three of them should be able to hear him.

"Please come back, Doc. I miss you," he whispers, pausing to kiss Lee's forehead before continuing. " _I love you._ "


	78. Chapter 78

The Doc doesn't show.

Edward finds he's having to deal with a petulant, rebellious child in his own home, stuck inside the body of the woman he'd fallen hopelessly in love with.

" _What_ has gotten into you?" he practically yells at Leslie one afternoon, frustrated beyond belief as he glares down at her on the couch, hands on his hips.

They couldn't agree on anything. It was as if she was willfully trying to defy him at every turn. But he wasn't her parent. Not even close. It made NO sense. She had never been this way with the part of him that was Eddie. Not at all.

"I dunno," she answers with a shrug.

"Can you at least let Lee out a little more often? And not just when she needs to work?"

He doesn't have much time to interact with Lee at all because even when shes in control of the body, she's usually at her clinic or busy tending to the children who are still recovering from TB and he always has to leave before she's done for the day anyway to rehearse the kids on _Paradise Lost_ over at the theater.

"No!"

"Look," Edward growls. "I'm getting a little frustrated -"

Leslie begins to laugh. At him.

What?

"I bet you are," she says cheekily.

A ten year old shouldn't be able to understand that particular double entendre. And even if she did, the Leslie he knew wouldn't be laughing about it. She thought sex was icky.

"It's not possible. . ." Edward mumbles under his breath.

"What?"

"I think -" Edward stops himself. This could get weird. Fast. "Can I talk to Lee real quick?"

"No," Leslie says firmly. "Say what you need to say to _both_ of us - she's listening."

"Fine," Edward says reluctantly. "I think you're going through puberty."

"What?" Leslie replies, incredulous. She looks like she's about to laugh, but then she grasps the side of her head in pain and Lee comes through.

"Child parts don't age, Edward. You know that," she says reasonably.

"Sure, among your patients at Arkham -"

She interrupts him, placing a soft hand on his cheek. "And with _you_. Eddie never grew up, he just merged back into you."

"I know," Edward replies. "But I think you're different."

"Why?"

"Because this split you're living with isn't natural. You didn't break like I did - from trauma - Professor Strange did this to you. What's happened to you, what you're living with, it isn't textbook - not even close. For one thing, you can switch so quickly it's blinding - that's not normal, and you know it. So, the way I see it, ANYTHING is fair game," Edward responds emphatically. But then he asks her gently, "How do you even know that The Doc isn't dead?"

"I don't," Lee says the words he's been dreading to hear and his heart sinks. "She's gone, but -"

"Then she could be gone for good, Lee."

"I don't want to believe that."

"Neither do I, but here we are. You have to face the fact that The Doc may not be coming back and that Leslie appears to be growing up." Edward takes her hand in his and looks down at it, contemplating. "I'd guess her age to be about thirteen right now."

"Based on _what_?"

"She's been obstinate, pushing back on authority -"

" _Your_ authority?" Lee says with a twist of her lips, shaking her head. "Just because she won't obey you doesn't mean -"

"It's not like that, Lee," Edward says firmly. "If you've been watching, you should know that I'm not trying to be a parent to her. I'm not the authority figure in this house. I would never expect her to _obey_ me -"

"Then what's the problem?"

"She's been treating ME like an authority figure - putting me in that position herself, finding the flimsiest of excuses to rebel against me - just like a teenager."

"Okay Edward," Lee concedes, although he can tell she doesn't really understand. He would bet that right now, inside of her head, Leslie is contradicting him. "But how did you come up with thirteen? That's on the low end of the age range for teenagers."

"Because boys' voices most commonly change around that age."

"Excuse me?" Lee says. "She's a GIRL. Where do you get -"

"I know," Edward interrupts her. "I _am_ talking about her voice."

"What about it?"

"She doesn't just adopt an adult-sounding voice when Dini's over, Lee. Sometimes she slips up."

"What do you mean?"

"She starts sounding exactly like you sometimes when she's talking to me - I don't think she even realizes it. It's a bit eerie, actually."

"So her voice switches from a child's to an adult's and back again? Just like that?"

Edward nods and she puts her hands to temples in pain once more. When it subsides, Leslie is back.

Speaking in an adult voice that sounds _exactly_ like Lee's, she says, "Just so you know, I was always this spunky, _Edward_. You just didn't notice. It doesn't mean I'm suddenly a teenager."

He sighs and looks down, thinking about how much the tables have turned. Now he's singular - all his parts have become one and she's . . .

Well, he's not quite sure what she is. Split, that's for sure. One of her parts is becoming lost in her delusions, one of her parts is AGING, and one of her parts appears to be _gone_. He knows what that's like. When The Riddler died, the two parts that had been left of him had felt bereft, lost, incomplete. Edward has great sympathy for the two that are left in Lee's body right now, annoying as one of them can be. He too, misses The Doc greatly. He always thought he'd see her again.

Edward takes a seat on the couch beside her.

"I know this can't be easy for you, Leslie with what's been happening with Lee and The Doc's disappearance and how you have to keep up appearances with Dini -"

Leslie puts up a finger. "Stop right there."

"I think it's best we -"

"Don't say it," Leslie snaps. "Don't you dare."

"I think we should stop having Dini over here until things settle -"

"No!" she yells, flying off the couch and whirling back to face him. "We _need_ her."

"Need?" Edward asks, taken aback.

"Ugh, now Lee's pissed." Leslie shakes her head and looks away. "I'm in charge right now and I'm going to say whatever I want." She turns back to Edward. "She denies what I just said, by the way."

"I'm curious, what exactly do you mean by 'need' -?"

"I mean -" Leslie stops, putting up a hand and closing her eyes. "I'm talking right now. You can talk to him later." She opens them again. "Ugh. Lee is as annoying as you are - only in an entirely different way."

She sighs, rolls her eyes, and answers his question. "What I meant was, Dini and I need each other."

"You need Dini or -" Edward indicates those inside of her, " _You_ need Dini?"

"ME, Edward. I already told you Lee's gone off the deep end. I'm the only sane one here - the one that's keeping us together - and I need that little girl like she needs me."

"How's that?"

"We have both lost our mothers, but in different ways. I'm giving her the attention I never had and helping her with things so she doesn't have to go it alone."

"So, effectively you're mothering her?"

"No, that's Lee's gig," Leslie says and turns down the corners of her lips. "And she's doing a _fine_ job of it. I'll have you know that I'm also trying to undo some of that damage. Lower her expectations. I know you and Lee will never agree to adopt her even though that's what she wants . . . a home, a family. With us."

Edward knows that - he knows that Lee is absolutely done with motherhood. She and The Doc had made that startlingly clear.

Yet . . .

There was something about this child, this child that bears his name. Edward is positive that she has been challenging their resolve - and his. He isn't sure that he'll be able to respect their wishes enough to not even entertain the possibility of adopting Dini someday. She's been slowly worming her way into their hearts, just as Oswald had predicted.

"Well, I think you shouldn't mother her at all, Leslie. Lee either." Best to nip this in the bud.

"You are SUCH a hypocrite!"

"What did I say?"

"Ugh," Leslie's quite visible frustration is rolling off of her in waves.

All this time, Edward has been having a terrible time understanding her moods, her attitudes, her frustration with him now that she appears to be maturing. Surely, he wasn't like this at this age, was he?

"I've bonded with Dini over our moms. You can't take that away from me!"

"I'm not taking anything away from you, Leslie. I'm not your parent, remember. I'm just trying to have a reasonable discussion so _we_ \- all three of us, Lee included - can come to a rational decision about having Dini over here. Not one based on our emotions. As I told a good friend once, love can make us weak."

Leslie's jaw drops and hangs open longer than necessary for dramatic effect. "Are you even listening to yourself?"

"What?"

"Lee is really pissed at you for saying that by the way. I thought you should know so you're prepared when I let her come forward again."

"Noted."

"But now _I_ have something to say about all this." Leslie straightens her shoulders and looks him directly in the eye. "Edward, even YOU have bonded quite a bit with Dini yourself -"

"Not as much as -"

"Come on, I _know_ you've bonded with her because she, too, is sick - just like you were as a kid." Leslie places a comforting hand on his shoulder and whispers, "And just like her, Eddie, you, too, were tormented by Scotch and the others. You can't forget that. That's why you want to protect her from her tormentors. That's why you, too, love her so much already. Just like us."


	79. Chapter 79

She sounds like she's going to upchuck. They have to pause mid-scene once again.

"You sure it's just allergies, Lila?" Edward asks the little girl onstage who had just been chewing the scenery before succumbing to yet another coughing fit.

The little girl playing Satan, the lead of _Paradise Lost_ , tugs on one of her long brown braids and calls out "Yes" confidently, but that little nervous tug of hair gives her away. Well, that and the fact that her voice that sounds like death rumbling over a gravestone. She'd been having trouble with her projection for days and now she can't seem to keep a lid on her coughing long enough to even get through her lines today. Edward's beginning to get very worried about her.

"Lila, let's have a talk." He motions her offstage.

By the time he reaches her backstage, she's started to cry.

"What is it?"

"It's just allergies, that's all it is!" She wipes at her eyes. "This time of year -"

"Have you seen Doc Thompkins about it?"

Her eyes go wide with fright and she shakes her head.

"Don't you think you should?" Edward asks gently, touching her arm soothingly. "You're killing your voice out there."

That starts a fresh round of tears, "B - but it's just allergies - I swear!"

"Doc Thompkins can help you with th -"

He had been about to tell her that Lee could help her with her allergy symptoms, but then she starts coughing again - and it's quite a long jag. Even though she's covered her mouth, fine blood spatter ends up on his shirt anyway. He turns away to wrinkle his nose in disgust - the girl already feels bad enough about being sick - she doesn't need to see his instinctual reaction.

He had no idea that Lila had started coughing up blood - she had been quite adept at hiding it. This isn't good. He turns back to her and insists firmly, "You need to pay Doc Thompkins a visit. Now."

"But the play . . ?"

"Can go on without you."

"But I don't want it to!" The little girl's gravelly voice rises almost to a screech and she stamps her foot. "That's not what -"

And now she's coughing again.

Once the coughing has passed, he says, "It's okay, Lila, you need to go see -"

Before he can even finish his sentence, she heads back out onstage and once she has everyone's attention, she turns to glare at him, still standing in the wings. Defiantly crossing her arms, she says, "I'm not going anywhere. You can't take this part away from me."

Edward remains backstage and just shakes his head at her. He needs to get ahold of Lee. There is something seriously wrong and Lila knows it. He's going to have to recast her part and now he's kicking himself that he neglected to assign any understudies. There were so few girls who had auditioned in the first place since so many of them had been quarantined because of the TB outbreak that hadn't even thought about assigning replacements for each part. This wasn't like The Narrows with what felt like swarms of children coming up to him after a show, begging for parts in the next one.

"Yeah, Lee. Satan needs -" Before he can even finish his quip, Lila has run offstage and out of the auditorium. "What the -?"

Then Dini is suddenly there and tugging at him. "My pump came undone, Mr. Ngyma."

"Is that Dini?" Lee asks.

"Yes, but -"

"Just put it back for her, okay? We'll have her over again tonight."

It sounds like Lee's about to hang up.

"Lee, wait."

"Yes?"

"Lila's on the loose -"

"On the loose?"

"She ran out of the auditorium after spitting up blood on me."

"Oh, no. . ."

"Can you let the headmistress know? I think someone should go looking for her."

"I will."

"I think she might have TB. I can test for it directly from my shirt if you'd like," he says jokingly.

"Funny. You know that could be fraught with -"

"Errors, I know. It introduces unknown variables that could lead to -"

"Bad Results. Yes, I know, Edward. Besides, dried blood isn't the correct sample type for your make-shift lab setup in that classroom that you commandeered anyway." Lee sighs heavily. "I'll give you a proper sample to run once someone has found her."

"Excellent."

"Tell Dini we'll make some diabetic-friendly chocolate chip cookies tonight. I know she's been wanting those and I think I just perfected the right recipe."

"You mean _Leslie_ has."

"Yes, at my direction. Hopefully she'll let me out to bake with her tonight. Either way, can you please just let her know what we have planned?"

"Sure." He hangs up and turns to Dini, who's holding out her insulin pump's disconnected tubing towards him with a smile.


	80. Chapter 80

"And now you can stir those chips in," Lee says gently as she hands over the wooden spoon to Dini. When Edward had joined them in the kitchen, he could tell that it was Lee because she had been wearing the dark pink apron Leslie refuses to wear - she had deemed it not spunky enough to match her personal style, or some other such nonsense.

Dini's eyes grow large as she watches Lee pour in the sugar-free chocolate chips and she dives in with the wooden spoon.

"So, when were you going to tell me you were sick as a child?" Lee says to Edward and then raises her eyebrow. "Or did you deem that information not worth telling me?"

"Uh-oh," Dini says and the handle of the wooden spoon that she had just been using begins a slow descent to the side of the bowl. "I swear I didn't tell her, Mr. Nygma. I didn't."

"Of course you didn't, sweetheart," Edward says calmly placing a hand on her head. "I know you didn't. It was someone else."

"Who?" Dini asks.

"It doesn't matter," he replies, then looks pointedly at Lee. "Nor does it matter what my childhood was like."

He stalks into the living room and paces, upset that Leslie had let that slip in their last conversation - especially knowing that Lee had been listening in. There was a reason Eddie had asked Leslie if Lee and The Doc could give them some privacy while he told her that sensitive information. Now he has to deal with Lee's annoyingly inquisitive nature.

She comes into the living room, having left Dini with the final, but crucial task of incorporating the chocolate chips into the batter. Her apron is off now, but she's not Leslie.

"What the hell, Edward?"

"What do you MEAN 'what the hell,' Lee? Why are you bringing this up _right no_ w? While Dini is over?"

"Because if I don't, I'm going to explode. When Leslie had me to take over today, you can't imagine how difficult it was not to think about you at work while I was taking care of all those kids, wondering what you went through when you were their age." She reaches out for him but he pulls away.

"You don't need to concern yourself with that," he snarls.

"Edward, it doesn't matter if I need to or not, I _care_ about you." She pulls him in tight with a little whimper as she hugs him. "At least tell me what you were sick with. Please."

"It doesn't matter."

He's not going to allow himself to give anything away to her. And even though he's still incredibly pissed at Leslie right now, he's trying to keep his anger at her in check and not take it out on Lee. But, he needs to leave the room so he can keep a lid on it.

He pulls himself out of her embrace. "I'm heading upstairs. I've got some data to destroy."

* * *

"All this research, be gone!" Edward whispers to himself in glee and then he giggles, rubbing his hands together before letting loose a data muncher - a nice little rogue program that he had put together specifically to destroy the data collected by Professor Strange's research team on the mutants that they were building for Jeremiah's army. Edward had found himself clearance at one of the highest levels within their data system . . . and now it's time for his rogue program to munch and destroy the data all the way down from there.

The other screen in his office comes to life - the large one in front of his desk.

"Not now, Tabby," he says dismissively.

"Nygma, I know you know where my boy is, what they've done with him since they took him from that Ace Chemical facility. Stop holding out on me."

"As I'm sure I made abundantly clear to you, we are doing this _my_ way, on _my_ time," Edward answers firmly.

"And when is _that -_?"

Edward ends the communication. Even _he_ doesn't have a timeline for his plan - nor does he care for the one he has. He's stalling everyone, including Oswald, as he waits for inspiration, hoping he'll come up with something better soon. He wants Strange to really suffer - like Lee is now, like his baby, Kristen, had then. He just hasn't found anything good enough for that madman just yet.

"Mr. Nygma?" he hears Dini's tentative voice from the door.

"Yes?"

"Are you and Dr. Thompkins okay?"

"We're fine, sweetheart. Adults just fight sometimes."

"I don't want you two to fight." Dini's chin quivers almost imperceptibly. "I like having you here. And if you guys aren't okay, you'll go away. Back to Gotham."

"What makes you say that?"

"That's what happens when men and women fight. Men leave," Dini pouts. "Even the nice ones."

"There were nice ones?" He knows she's talking about her mother's boyfriends - and from what little he knows of her, he's surprised that she managed to attract any good ones.

"Yes, nice ones like you. Even they go away once they're driven off," Dini looks like she's going to cry. "And just now, Dr. Thompkins was angry with you and then you were angry with her. I'm worried that she'll make you go away."

"Not all men do that, Dini - not all men run from a fight - not if they're fighting to keep something they care about. Like a family."

"Really?" Her eyes go wide with hope, and he realizes that he probably shouldn't have worded it that way.

"Yep. I'm not so easily run off." He answers her with a light laugh, remembering his persistence with Miss Kringle. Nope, it takes quite a bit to scare him off. Besides, he had made a promise - and so had Lee. Even though he has serious doubts that long-term she'll want to keep her end of the bargain, he thinks it best to reassure the kid about _his_ intentions. "Dini, you've got nothing to worry about with Doc Thompkins and I, okay? I'm not going anywhere. That's not gonna happen."

"Then why aren't you married?"

His stomach clenches involuntarily and he just looks at her for a second before it relaxes. From the mouths of babes . . . why not indeed?

But then, as he and Dini head downstairs to try some freshly baked cookies, the mere scent of them makes Edward recall why they're not married and never will be.

 _His mother would bake cookies just like these . . . except her apron had been red. Everything was always red with her._

He had learned the hard way that fiery women could be terrifying . . . and he doesn't want another turn in the oven.


	81. Chapter 81

"You've been vaccinated, right?" Lee stands at the door to their bedroom, a hand on her hip.

"Vaccinated?" He's distracted by how beautiful she looks in the fading light of the day and very happy that Leslie hadn't taken over just yet. It's nice to have so much time with Lee, even if technically they're still fighting because he refuses to tell her anything about his past. "For tuberculosis?"

"Yes. You got Lila's coughed up blood all over your shirt."

"Of course. At the facility, they couldn't have a tuberculosis outbreak on their hands and with all of us sick kids living so close together -"

"You _lived_ at a facility?" Lee asks, sitting down beside him on the bed.

 _Shit._ He finds himself starting to breathe fast, and closes his eyes, fighting off a panic attack.

"I didn't know you had been so sick, Edward."

She takes his shaking hand into hers.

"I wasn't **that** sick," he says gruffly and pulls his hand out of hers before she can tell just how much he's starting to tremble.

"Was it leukemia? I know this one facility in Gotham that had a high success rate -"

"I didn't have cancer," he growls, not wanting to think about those awful kids in the cancer ward. "Please, Lee, I really don't want to talk about this - please respect that."

"Okay," she says softly as she deflates, her shoulders drooping.

"Thank you," he replies, kisses her on the forehead, and pulls her down into the bed with him. After a few moments of holding her in silence and after his shaking subsides, he speaks again, "Can we talk about you instead?"

"Sure."

"I think I might know how to fix you guys."

"Really?" Lee props herself up on an elbow, excited.

"Yes, I've been meaning to tell you -"

"So spill."

Edward tells her what he had discovered in Strange's notebook - what he was pretty sure was the key to fusing the split pieces of one's personality together after they had been resurrected. They needed to find a _STORY_ \- one cohesive story for everyone.

"I wonder what my story could be?"

"You're a healer, Lee. That's why I think working here with all these kids -"

There's a wince that clouds her face, and after a slight flip of her hair, the child is back.

"Try again, Edward," Leslie says, almost nastily. "I'm not a doctor."

* * *

 **Warning: The following section contains graphic depictions of the lasting scars of physical abuse.**

He is awakened from his slumber by soft cries coming from the yellow room - Kristen's room. They haven't turned into screams just yet, but he knows they will if he doesn't act fast. Dini often has nightmares and he and Lee and The Doc have been taking turns soothing her - well, when The Doc had still been around that was. He doesn't let Leslie partake in all of this, and since Leslie had been the one in Lee's body before she fell asleep, he gets up quickly and leaves the room before Leslie even has a chance to be awakened by the little girl's cries down the hallway - he doesn't want to have another argument with her about it.

Edward has soothed Dini like this before. Countless times he's helped her get past her bad memories turned nocturnal torture, but tonight is different . . .

He sits by the side of her bed and takes her hand, waiting for her whimpering to die down and for her to awaken. When she does, she's not thinking about herself, or the troubled dreams she had just been having. She's thinking about _him._

"I'm sorry your secret is out."

He hadn't been expecting to hear her say that. "It's okay, Dini. You don't have to worry about that. Besides, the other secret I told you is still safe."

"You mean the one about you being an orphan, too?"

"Yeah, that one," Edward says softly and bows his head.

"It's okay, Mr. Nygma. I like you. I'm sorry your mommy didn't, though."

How quickly tears can spring to his eyes now. Damn _,_ splitting had been a convenient way to shut off emotion. Now it all hits him full force and he's still having trouble getting used to it.

"Oh, don't cry, Mr. Nygma."

"I'm not," he says through sniffles, still looking down.

"Can I tell you a secret?"

He nods.

"My mommy didn't like me, either."

"That's not exactly a secret, Dini." He looks back up at her, a mirthful smile shining through the tears on his cheeks.

"I know," she says. "But I want to _show_ you."

"Show me what?"

"Dr. Thompkins knows, and I don't think it's fair that you don't." Before she continues, she takes in a big breath as if she's being brave. "So, I'm going to show _you,_ too."

She rolls up the long sleeve of her PJ's on her right arm, all the way up to her shoulder to reveal a few marks - sinister marks that had twisted her flesh into circles - pits really - some were still reddish, newer - and some had faded.

"Who did this to you?" Edward demanded.

"Wait, there's more."

Dini turns away from him and lifts the back of her pajama top up so she can show him the ones on her back. There's many more there. And Edward knows what they are. Weals of fire and pain. Cigarette burns.

Dini puts her top back down and faces him once again. "There's more - the worst ones are on my tummy, but I won't to show those to you. Dr. Thompkins has already seen them and you don't need to see any more because you understand, right?"

"Yes." Edward's blood boils at the sight of those scars. He knows her mother had to have inflicted them on her . . .

"Good. I knew you would!" Dini is actually smiling brightly, which he finds odd. Perhaps it's her way of coping with this atrocity. "But I never told Dr. Thompkins _why_ they are there and I thought _you_ might want to know. A secret for a secret, right?"

Sharing secrets about evil mothers. This is going to be just dandy. Suddenly, his stomach doesn't feel so good.

"Go on."

"Okay." Dini takes in another one of those big brave breaths. "My mother is . . . well . . . someone our neighbors didn't approve of."

 _I bet._

"She had a lot of boyfriends. A LOT," Dini continues. "Some of them were mean on their own and others she had to egg on."

"Egg on to do what?" Edward tries to keep the growl out of his voice.

"To hurt me."

"How?" The sick feeling in Edward's stomach only deepens.

"They made the scars. I would beg for her to stop making them do it as they put out her cigarettes on my skin, but she would just laugh at me, make fun of me. And she drove off the nice ones - the ones who refused to make her happy by burning me. They knew what she was doing was mean." Dini looks down with a frown. "But, like I told you, men don't stay around once there's fighting - not even the nice ones."

"Hey," Edward says gently, taking her hand in his again and covering it with his other one. "Nice men who are _weak_ are the ones who leave. If any of them had had strength of character, they would have tried to protect you."

"One of them did."

"Oh?"

Dini nods. "His name was Nate. He saw my marks when he refused to play mommy's game one night. They got in a big fight and he left. But then later that night, the cops came and took me to Driftwood Island. He told them that mommy was being mean to me."

"See, there was a nice man who didn't just leave - he wanted to protect you."

"I hope you will, too," Dini replies, sounding forlorn.

Edward had been just about to reassure her when -

"But I don't want a mother anymore," she practically seethes. "They have no morals, no restraint -"

"Restraint? That's a pretty big word for you to know." Edward asks, but in the back of his mind, he's still processing her 'I don't want a mother' statement.

"I learned a lot of vocabulary from my neighbors," Dini says, suddenly excited to show off what she knows. "Hussy, slut, lackadaisical, delinquent, degenerate, ne'er-do-well, debauchery, derelict, barfly, floozy, harlot, tart -"

Edward stops her by putting a hand up. "Wow. That's quite a vocabulary there."

"I'm good with words," Dini says proudly and gives him a wide toothy grin that would make any father proud.

"Are you okay settling back into bed now?" Edward asks her.

"Yes," she says as she flops back and pulls the covers up to her chin before he can even start to tuck her in. She fiddles with the lace trim. "This bed is really nice. It's really cute. Did your daughter like it?"

The remote labeled Kali is in the breast pocket of his robe. He hasn't had the heart to put it away anywhere that isn't close to him - during the day he keeps it in his suit pocket. "I think she would have liked it, yes."

"Would have?" Dini's eyes go wide. "So, she died before this was her room?"

"Yes," Edward answers, tears threatening again. Dini is quite an insightful kid. Too bad Lee doesn't want a child and Dini had just stated that she doesn't want a mother either - just like Martin had before they all left for Gotham -

In that very moment, in the midst of that train of thought, Edward realizes that he wishes he could be her father.

"I think Kristen would have liked this room," Dini says innocently, looking around. She had used his daughter's name. _How had she learned it?_

"I'm glad you think so." Edward instinctively goes to touch the remote in his breast pocket, covering it with his whole hand. He finds that he is the one taking in a big, brave breath now. "I think she would have liked it, too . . . had she lived."


	82. Chapter 82

"And HOW exactly does Dini know Kristen's name?" Lee asks him as he joins her the following morning in the kitchen.

"How should I know? Didn't Leslie tell her?" Edward wants to wring her neck if that's the case.

"No, Leslie most certainly did not tell her."

 _Hmm . . ._

"She didn't even tell me that you had been sick as a kid!" Lee looks exasperated. "Hell, you even told Dini that little piece of information before you told _me_!"

"I didn't tell you anything," Edward says, almost nastily.

"Let me guess, you swore both of them to secrecy or something like that?"

"Of course."

Lee sighs in resignation, and even though it looks like she may be giving up, Edward knows that's not likely.

"Well, there's another thing you haven't told me about - The Riddle Factory." Lee sighs as if lost in a memory. "I miss those days with you back in The Narrows, I really do. Promise me you'll tell me ALL about The Riddle Factory during your recent trip up to Gotham."

Just then, Dini comes downstairs for breakfast, interrupting them. "Good morning, everyone!"

"Good morning!" they both answer cheerily, the bright yellow coloring of the kitchen matching their mood.

"You're on pancakes," Lee tells Edward.

"Got it," he says, kissing her. It's nice Leslie had let her out again this morning. Perhaps she really does understand how much he needs to spend time with Lee. "Tell Leslie thanks."

"What for?" Lee asks, confused, even though she shouldn't be. She _had_ to have been present for the conversation he had with Leslie when he had asked for more time with her. "Oh, wait. She says you're welcome."

"Who's Leslie?" Dini asks.

"Just a friend of ours," Edward answers as if it's no big deal. "Now, where's that high protein baking mix?"

Lee points it out to him. "I'll make the sausage."

"What can I make?" Dini asks.

"You can set the table," Edward answers. "Once I'm done with the batter and get a few of these on the griddle, I'll show you where everything's at, okay?"

"Okay," Dini says brightly, taking a seat at the kitchen table and swinging her feet. She says, "You guys are so nice to me - pancakes are such a special treat."

Edward and Lee smile at each other over the stove. He decides that he can live in her little delusion this morning, enjoying his role as the father figure in this little nuclear family. It's nice.

* * *

"And then, once the milkshake ran away with the spoon -"

"No, silly," Dini interrupts Edward in the midst of his 'Tales from The Riddle Factory' at the breakfast table. "That's from The Cow Jumped Over the Moon. And it was a DISH that ran away with the spoon."

"Not at The Riddle Factory," Edward replies. "At The Riddle Factory, it was a milkshake, trust me. Strange things happen there."

"What kind of strange things?" Dini asks her eyes going wide.

"Well, sometimes even _scary_ strange things happen there," Edward says, glancing over at Lee and winking.

"Oooh, scary," she replies, playing along as she leans forward on her elbows. "I _like_ scary stories."

"Me, too!" pipes up Dini.

"Okay, then." Edward asks her, "Do you remember how Uncle William is a Pharaoh?"

"Yes. He's _The_ Pharaoh," Dini says emphatically.

Edward chuckles. "Well, your Uncle William has many subjects -"

"Like all the people of Beachview?" Dini asks.

"Not _exactly_ like them," Edward says. "Some of his subjects work for him up in Gotham - and one of them was named Query. She was quite the sassy lady and Uncle William assigned her to work as my assistant at The Riddle Factory - I've already told you about her - do you remember? She was the one who would spin The Wheel of Misfortune."

" . . . Wheel of Misfortune." Dini says along with him, mastering the cadence, yet still trailing a bit behind him in the timing. "Yes. I liked her!"

Edward continues, "Well, an evil clown and his harlequin -"

"What's a harlequin?"

"Do you know what a mime is?"

"No," Dini answers.

"A mime is a performer who communicates without sound," Lee answers.

"Like Martin!" Dini exclaims.

"No, not exactly like Martin," Edward says. "Martin can make noises and sounds - he just doesn't make words. And it's not for show - it's how he lives every day. Mimes, on the other hand, are only silent while they are performing and express themselves through gestures and the like. Martin uses a pen and paper."

"Okay," Dini replies, nodding her head.

"Now, harlequins are a particular type of mime that wear costumes made up of diamonds in a very specific pattern. They often wear masks and a pointed hat like a jester cap."

"Ooh. . ."

"Now, this evil clown's harlequin was wearing black and red diamonds just as you would expect - but not the cap or the mask - when she showed up backstage at The Riddle Factory and forced Query to strip."

"Oh no!" Dini's hands fly to her mouth. "Was Query okay?"

Edward doesn't actually know - he makes a mental note to ask William about it and thinks about the best way to answer Dini.

"The harlequin _did_ allow poor Query to keep her feathers, so that she could keep her sass."

"Oh, good," Dini says, relieved.

Edward can still vividly remember Query shivering backstage, her arms over her bare breasts with nothing on but a bustle of pink feathers. She probably hadn't been okay, no matter what he tells this little girl.

"Now, this harlequin donned Query's clothes and her joke of a consort - that evil clown - took the stage before me."

"That's not very nice."

"No, it wasn't. It was _my_ show, not theirs," Edward says. "But just so you know, the harlequin actually _did_ talk, just not so loud that the audience could hear her. She was very unlike the boisterous Query, even though she, too, spun The Wheel. She just wasn't much of a performer. She was such a let down for the audience after Query."

"She sounds like a dud," Dini says, which elicits a chuckle from Lee.

"Even though she wasn't much of a performer, she was deceptively fierce. Her consort, on the other hand, was a laugh riot, but in a crazy way." Edward pauses. "He was **literally** insane. Even your Uncle Oswald was afraid of him."

"Really?" Dini asks. "What about Uncle William?"

"Not at all. They're sworn enemies."

"They are?"

"Yes, that evil clown blew up his school."

"Oh my! That's not very nice. I couldn't imagine anyone blowing up Driftwood Island." She shivers.

"You don't have to worry about that," Lee says soothingly, giving her a side hug. "This isn't Gotham. Bad things like that don't happen here."

"But bad things still _do_ happen here," Dini counters.

"Yes, they _do_ ," Edward agrees even as Lee gives him a look. "Just not in the same way as they do in Gotham."

"Especially now - since it's fallen," Dini says forlornly. "I hope Martin is going to be okay."

"Dini," Edward says. "You never need to worry about that. Uncle Oswald is his father. NO ONE will touch a hair on that boy's head. Trust me."

"Why not?"

"Because Oswald is a vill -"

Lee kicks him under the table and then shakes her head sternly. For a moment, he had forgotten that they were all supposed to be "villains light" down here. A couple of bank robbers with questionable morals and their ethically tainted, yet lovable Gotham pals.

"Okay, back to the story," Dini says and claps her hands.

"Oh yes, where were we?" Edward asks. "Let's see . . . The evil clown commanded that I be strapped to my very own Wheel!"

"Oh, no."

"Yes! And then once he spun me round and round until my head was upside down and my face turned red, he asked me a riddle."

"Ooooh. _Your_ turn to solve a riddle."

"Yes, but it was for the sole purpose of giving me information meant for your Uncle Oswald." That's a stretch - the information had actually been for him. He knows that deep in his heart every time he finds himself reaching for Kristen's remote. "If I solved his riddle, the clown promised he would give me a data chip."

"Just like a spy story!"

"Yep. Very much so."

"What was the riddle?"

"That evil clown isn't well versed in words, language. He's a scientist at heart so it ended up being nothing more than a science problem."

Dini scrunches up her little face and shakes her head. "I don't like science. Blech."

Lee laughs. "Well, I can see in whose footsteps she's _not_ going be following."

"I could say the same for you," Edward answers, a growl in his voice.

"But I _do_ like words," Dini says a touch of desperation in her voice. "I could learn riddles."

Edward sticks his tongue out at Lee, who just laughs before leaning in to kiss his cheek, whispering, "She could be your daughter."

Could she?

Edward gives Lee a quizzical look, but she doesn't return it. In fact, she's not even looking at him.

"Does that mean I get to learn riddles?" Dini asks Edward.

"Uh . . . um . . ."

"Yes, I'm sure he'll have time to teach you one of these days after school. Speaking of . . ."

Lee looks at her watch. "It's getting to be time to go."

"Awww. . ." Dini whines.

Edward whines, too. "But I didn't get a chance to finish my story."

He hadn't even gotten to the part with the eyes of The Pharaoh - the scariest part.

"No time," Lee says brusquely. "Miles is waiting for us."

Edward grumbles. He hates leaving things unfinished.


	83. Chapter 83

Later that day, during rehearsals, Ed's mind wanders, thinking about which riddles would be easy enough for a six-year-old to grasp.

"Mr. Nygma, when are you going to re-cast Lila's part?"

"Yeah, when can we audition for it?"

"We don't know for sure whether or not she has TB just yet. For now, she's still the lead."

It had taken a while to track Lila down so that Lee could begin collecting samples from her - it was going to take another couple of days before Edward would have enough to analyze. For now, Lila had been quarantined all by herself.

But, damn, that girl really wanted to play Satan. He didn't want to take her part away from her until they were absolutely certain she was sick with TB and not something more benign that she could recover from _well_ before the play's estimated opening night. And the exact date for that was still up in the air as Lee waited for the quarantined children to fully recover and become non-infectious. She estimated it could still be a few months. So, if it turned out that Lila _did_ have TB, she would be out for far too long and he'd definitely have to recast the part.

Good thing he has a ton of ambitious little girls clamoring for it well before they even know it's available. He smiles to himself before turning his attention back to the script, looking for another scene that _doesn't_ include much Satan - there aren't too many of them.

"Okay, I need Moloch, Belial, Mammon, and Beelzebub. Please come up to the stage - we're going to rehearse the debate in Hell scene next."

Jenny, Dini, Quintessa, and Abbie leave their seats to join him onstage. Dini trails behind the other girls, her head down. When she reaches the first row, someone trips her, and she goes flying face first towards the base of the stage, her purple bow knocked from her head. Laughter erupts at first but then -

" _ **Who did that?"**_ Edward demands.

There's only two choices, and he's glaring at both of them. The girl with long dark hair to the left of the aisle, Luzmila, just cowers, while the girl with frizzy chestnut hair to the left of the aisle won't even meet his eye. Instead she's whispering furiously to the girl next to her, Clarissa, who just sits there, arms crossed, with a smirk on her face - even beneath Edward's glare. She tosses her mane of wavy blonde hair as if in challenge, almost like she's bored.

Edward narrows his eyes.

Dini is back on her feet and up onstage in no time, her bow perfectly back in place.

"It's okay, Mr. Nygma, I'm just clumsy is all." She tugs on the elbow of his suit jacket and looks up at him. He can see that she's afraid. She whispers to him, "Can we just do the scene now?"

"Sure," Edward replies, sending one last glare Clarissa's way, before he gets everyone in place. "Okay, Jenny, Moloch will start us off. It's okay to refer to your script. I don't expect anyone to be off book just yet. Just remember, Moloch is a big, bad, warrior. Be gruff."

"Okay."

As Jenny starts reading her lines and following the marks Edward had given her the last time they rehearsed this scene, he finds himself glancing over at Dini and trying not to laugh. She's doing a **perfect** caricature of Oswald.

She's sitting there, puffing herself out in exasperation upon hearing any of Moloch's lines that her character would disagree with and doing Oswald's little head motion where he looks like he's pulling at his collar without even touching it. _Where had she learned this stuff?_ He certainly hadn't given her any specific direction like this - he'd only told her to observe Oswald to prepare for her role. And boy, had she.

When it is her turn to read, Dini takes center stage with confidence - and no script. Edward remembers that Lee had told him that the youngest of them had memorized their lines because his script was above their basic ability to read.

" _Moloch, you want us to attack Heaven out of some sense of pride?"_

Dini gives Jenny an impatient, condescending stare worthy of Oswald.

" _You_ know _that's not likely to work."_

Turning back towards the audience, she says, " _Nay, it is hopeless. We should not think of our wounded pride, our embarrassment at having been cast out of Heaven - Hell is not the den of shame you claim it to be."_

" _Defeat would be better than exile!"_ Jenny declares.

" _Would it?"_ Dini asks, turning about to face her, doing Oswald's waddle and everything. Edward should get her a cane. " _Don't you remember that it was Hell that provided us shelter when we fled Heaven's attack?"_

Edward thinks of how The South had offered them shelter - shelter from a Gotham that was falling apart, shelter from a Gotham that Lee would never return to. It feels weird to be 'cast out' - Beachview will never feel like home to him - but he knows it's the best place for them to be. They need to be around these little girls, these tiny little broken souls that need them back.

It keeps their villainous sides in check. It keeps them balanced. If they had remained in Gotham, who knows how dark they would have become - especially Lee. Losing three babies in quick succession had taken a heavy toll on her.

Even now, she's still split into three, with one part missing and another that might just be losing her grip on reality. What would she have become if they had stayed in Gotham? If she had seen all that had been lost in The Narrows? Thank goodness for Jean, rounding up all those Narrows kids and getting them out of that hell zone. She was more than just a cook to these children - she was their guardian angel.

* * *

"Okay, how are these words related? What makes this a riddle?"

Edward borrows Dini's sketchpad and spells out

T O N

and

N O T

They're sitting at the foot of the stage together.

"Oooh!" Dini's eyes go wide. She had memorized the riddle, but it finally clicks when she sees the letters. She touches the T, then the O, then the N of NOT. "Backwards, I am not!"

"Good job. TON is heavy forward and backwards it spells NOT."

Dini and Edward high five just as one of the doors to the auditorium cracks open and Lee peeks her head in through it.

"Dr. Thompkins!" Dini says excitedly and waves.

"You almost wrapped up in here?" Lee asks, waving back to Dini. "Leslie's um . . . dying to see you, Edward."

"Dying, huh?" Edward chuckles.

"Well, she just wants to be out and about in general."

"Oh."

"I'd like to be on our way back to Beachview before -"

"Gotcha." Darn it, he had really wanted to talk to Lee about the scars Dini had showed him last night, but it doesn't look like that's going to happen.

He watches the little girl pack up her things and it reminds him of how different she is around the other girls. _Defeated._ She spends most of her time in rehearsals with her head buried in her sketchbook, looking for all the world like she's trying to disappear from it. Yet, she's the complete opposite once she takes the stage, where she just shines. It's perplexing.


	84. Chapter 84

"Why do you think Dini's like that?" Ed asks Lee during the boat ride home, hoping to get a chance to talk to her before she and Leslie make the switch.

"Lively with us and shy with almost everyone else?" she asks.

"Yes, that. But also, why does she shine onstage, yet just cower when she's not? You should see her, Lee. It's like she's two entirely different people."

"Do you think she's split like you were?"

"It's not entirely outside the range of possibility, given all that she's been through, but if she is split, it doesn't match my experience. She changes too rapidly - just like you do - and that's not normal. As you know, in your case, it's actually quite artificial. No, I'm fairly certain there's something else going on with her . . ."

"Edward, she was badly abused at home - that's why she was taken away. Perhaps she's still healing? Perhaps she's happy with us because we represent a stable family to her . . . a non-abusive one."

"Even if it isn't real."

Lee just purses her lips, not saying anything.

"Lee . . ."

She turns to face the bow, letting the light sea-spray play upon her face as the strong wind blows her hair back.

Edward puts a hand on her shoulder. "It's not _real_ , Lee."

She nods, and he can see her wipe away a tear.

He pulls her in close, and now the sea spray mists both of them.

He puts his lips to her ear and whispers, "It's not real unless you want to make it real."

It's the first time he's ever hinted at wanting to have Dini in their lives on a more permanent basis. And that morning at breakfast when Lee told him he could be her father, he knew she was hinting the same thing as well.

* * *

She sits bolt upright in bed beside him, sweating, panting, pushing her hair out of her face as she tries to catch a full breath. Edward's hand is on her back within seconds.

"Leslie? Lee?"

"It's me," she answers in Lee's tone of voice. "Did all of that happen? Was it real?"

"Was what real?" Edward asks her.

She brings a hand to her womb as tears form at the corner of her eyes. "I dreamt that we had a baby and she was twisted, mutated by Hugo Strange. But then she died and we immediately had another child. But then we lost that one, too . . ."

Lee bends forward and starts hitching, tears pouring out of her eyes. In an effort to calm herself, she chants " _It can't be true it can't be true it can't be true_."

"Lee, yes." Edward hugs her tight, wanting to cry himself. _How could she ever have forgotten?_

"Where's Dini?" Lee asks suddenly. "I want to see our little girl - I have to know that she's real."

"Lee, she's not -"

"Of course she is!" Lee screams. "She's _real_. Our only living daughter is real - we named her after you."

Before he knows it, she's charged from the room. He grabs his robe and staff and sees her ducking into the yellow room - Kristen's room - _Dini's_ room.

"No!" he hears her cry out, and finds her slumped on the floor, her back against the small single bed. Lee's dark, wretched look is in stark contrast to the bed's bright yellow bedspread with its flouncy white ruffles made of delicate lace. It's too cheery a backdrop for her. She's not even holding Pooky Bear or Pokey Bear as he's seen her do from time to time when she's sad - instead, she holds some of Dini's bows that they keep in the vanity - ones that she, Leslie, and The Doc have purchased for her. And she's holding them very tightly to her chest, over her heart.

"What happened to our little girl? We saved her from the bad people. We were the good parents. Why did they take her away?"

"Lee, Dini wasn't taken away from us - it's just, we were never her parents in the first place."

Lee shakes her head and mouths a silent "No."

"Yes, Lee. It is true she has escaped a terribly abusive situation -"

"Horrible."

"Yes, horrible," Edward agrees. "But we weren't the ones who saved her. The cops brought her to the orphanage."

"The cops? But I've seen her scars - all over her body - the cigarette burns. How could we not have saved her?"

"I saw them, too." Edward takes in a breath - this is most definitely not how he had envisioned sharing that little fact with her. "She showed them to me. But she showed them to you because you're her doctor."

"Her doctor?" Lee looks confused. "Not her mother?"

"No," Edward says. "Although, you make a pretty mean baker."

Now she looks even more confused, her brows knitting together.

"Never mind."

Lee looks over at the two bears. The arm of Pooky Bear is close enough for her to touch. She pulls him down into her lap, and carefully sets the bows down on the floor beside her.

"Here," Edward says and motions for the bows.

She picks them up and hands them over so that he can put them away in the vanity. Then, he takes a seat on the bed. She joins him, Pooky Bear still cradled in her arms. "You know when my mother died, Pooky Bear was all I had - he was the only remnant of the time before everything changed."

Edward had been curious about Pooky Bear's travels, so he has to ask. "Why was he at Mario's?"

"You mean the house I _shared_ with Mario?" she corrects him. "The one not far from here?"

"Sure."

She lets out a deep sigh. "After all that had happened with Jim, I thought I'd never be happy again, yet miraculously, I found happiness with Mario. Pooky Bear followed me through all of that - a constant comfort - a constant joy. But after I released the Tetch virus -"

"You felt like you didn't deserve that anymore."

"Yeah." She lowers her head. "Thank you for making Pokey Bear for me. For accepting me for what I've become."

"You're welcome," he says and their lips meet in the softest of kisses.

But when they part, she looks around the room, her eyes frantic. "Where's Kristen?"

Edward just buries his head in his hands. He realizes that he also needs to accept that this part of her really has gone mad. She seems so lucid . . . and yet, she's not. Not at all. She's as far gone as William.

"Edward, wake up." Lee bumps into him. He hadn't been asleep. "Help me find Kristen."

Lee starts to stand up, but Edward stops her, placing his hand on her arm. "She's right here, Lee."

His other hand covers his breast pocket as he looks at her gravely.

"In your heart?" Lee's brows come together again. "But that would mean she's -"

Solemnly, Edward removes the remote from his pocket. The one that had taken their daughter's life.

Lee chokes up at the sight of it, yet still manages a few words. " _. . . dead._ She's dead."

Edward nods, and wipes tears from his own eyes.


	85. Chapter 85

The cookies go into the oven. The Kristen cookies.

"No! No! Not the Hot!" Edward hears a young girl's voice say in protest.

He peers around his mother's red apron to see Miss Kringle's head spinning around within the pockets of all of the cookies - the pockets where morsels should have been.

She's yelling out, " _Psycho Freak Psycho Freak"_ as her heads turn. It's not the voice of the little girl he had heard earlier. Where had she gone?

"Now, what did Mommy teach you this Christmas?" his mother asks him and he looks up at her. She's tall. He can easily see the top of her apron, the tie about its waist, all the way up to her hair done up in victory rolls - just like the ones that Kristen would wear for their dates. Edward peeks back into the oven to check her rolls. Yes, they're identical.

 _Smack._ Edward is hit in the back of the head with the wooden spoon his mom had been using to stir the batter. He reaches up to pull the stickiness out of his hair.

"Oh, no," his mother says as she grabs his hand firmly by the wrist and shakes it. "Tell me, what did I teach you?"

He looks up at her again with big round eyes. "That no one will ever really love me."

"Good boy," she says before gently cleaning the gunk from the back of his head and then kissing it.

He smiles. He had won his mother's affection. But at what price?

He looks back into the oven. The cookies have melted, including the Kristen heads stuck within them - but they still turn in a warped way.

"And _why_ will no one ever love you, Edward?" his mom asks, hugging him to her side. He doesn't want to answer incorrectly and lose this fleeting moment with her. He wraps his arm around her and thinks hard.

The Kristen heads begin their chant again. " _Psycho Freak Psycho Freak."_

His mother points the wooden spoon towards the oven.

"She's wrong, you know. It's way more than that." She sighs deeply, as if she's losing her patience. "Better start on the Isabellas."

She pours blonde chips into a fresh bowl of batter and lets him place the new cookies on the cookie sheet. And he does it perfectly - just as his mother had taught him. Each one is the same size with the same number of chips - all equally spaced exactly three inches apart. He knows. He'd measured.

As soon as the cookie sheet is in the oven, up pop Isabella heads in place of the blonde morsels.

" _Everything's okay, Edward. You're not going to hurt me. I'm going to hurt you. Everything's okay. You're not going to hurt me. I'm going to hurt you."_

Little Edward slumps to his knees in front of the oven, placing his tiny hand and part of his cheek on the glass.

He whispers, "I won't hurt you," as a tear traverses down his cheek along the warm glass of the oven. Edward doesn't care if it's hot - he wants his Izzie Bee back.

And there's that whack again - on the back of his head, and then in between his shoulders. He knows what that means - it's time to get up. But he can't.

"Izzie Bee!" he cries out, smushing more of his tear stained face into the glass.

" _It's okay, Edward. You're not going to hurt me. I'm going to hurt you."_

His mother's sharp red fingernails twist into his ears.

"Stand up!" she screams, tugging on him.

Edward's still got tears on his face. Not good. He wipes at them frantically.

"You pathetic little _boy_ ," she seethes. "Do you really think you deserve _that_?"

She points a ramrod finger at the oven. He sees the Isabella heads start to melt and warp as they twist - as do their words. He frowns and his head droops solemnly as he replies, "No."

"There's a reason she was taken from you," his mother asserts. "And no, it wasn't so you could have playtime at the beach with your doctor friend."

"What was it, then?" he asks.

"Wouldn't you like to know," she answers snidely.

Edward looks away. She was always playing games with him - games with so few clues that it was impossible to win. He wishes the tables were turned.

"Edward!" his mother says sharply to get his attention as she puts another cookie sheet in the oven - one with darker cookies. "Let's talk about your doctor friend."

"Dr. Leslie Thompkins?"

"Yes, her." His mother points to the oven. "I see you're embroiled with her."

Each morsel has her head on one side and . . .

. . . his on the other.

" _I won't leave you Promise I won't leave you Promise"_ they each chant in turn.

His mother puts a hand on his shoulder as if she's concerned and crouches down to his level. "Now, do you really believe what she says to you? What she's promised?"

"No I don't," he says and his mother gives him another one of those rare but warm hugs.

Pulling away she asks, "Now, Edward, do you believe what _you're_ saying? That you'll never leave her?"

He gulps. He really doesn't know what the correct answer is, what his mother wants him to say. His eyes just dart from the oven where he is melting into the one he loves and back to her cold and calculating eyes.

"You're going to leave her, Edward," he hears his mother say. Her voice reverberates as if she's down a long hallway - or a vestibule. " _You will."_

* * *

"Hey, wake up." He feels gentle shaking.

"What?" He startles awake and finds himself in an upright position, his arms outstretched before him, reaching for . . .

Nothing.

He drops them.

"You're crying."

He touches his face. So, he is. He lets out a final heaving sob before wiping at his face.

"What is it?" she asks and he finally turns to look at her, her hair as dark as a raven's in the pale moon light.

"Dance with me."

"Now?" she asks, surprised.

"Yes," he says getting out of bed and grabbing his staff. He walks over to her side and holding out a hand, he says, "Milady."

"Oh, my," she replies, her satin nightgown rustling against the sheets as she stands up to join him. As she takes his hand, she says, "And what have I done to deserve this special treat in the middle of the night?"

A lump forms in his throat at the sound of the word 'deserve,' but as he pulls her close and buries his face deep into her neck, he finds that he's able to answer her in a whisper. "Everything."

Then, he starts to spin her about the room, leading them, his staff as a counterbalance.

The real question is, what did _he_ do to deserve her?

Midstep, she touches his now dry face. "Why were you crying?"

He looks down at her without answering, hoping she can find what she's looking for within his eyes so that he doesn't have to say anything.

She stops dancing. "No, seriously, talk to me. Your cries brought me back."

"Brought you back? From where?"

"You _need_ someone, Edward," she brings both of her hands to his face now. "So I came back."

A confused but pleased expression plays about Edward's face. Could it be . . ?

"Doc?"

Now the tears swim in her eyes. She nods.

"Yes, it's me."


	86. Chapter 86

Their lips crash together as they have many times before, but this time it's almost desperate - wanting. _Longing._

"Doc . . . I missed you so much," Edward breathes heavily onto her lips once he can bear to break free of them.

"Me, too." She pulls away from him and saunters over to the bed, a sly grin playing about her face. "Kiss me, you fool."

"You make me more than a fool," he replies.

Her only response is to remove the flimsy satin cloth covering her bare skin and throw it at his face. It wraps around his entire head, thoroughly impeding his vision. But he doesn't need it - he's seen what's under there - many times - and it is luscious.

"Come and get me, Sailor," she purrs seductively from the bed.

Edward groans with anticipated pleasure, pulls The Doc's nightie from his face and throws it to the floor.

"Oh, you're going to get it, alright," he says before he pounces.

* * *

Their lovemaking is something altogether different than passion. Their connection is more of a yearning satisfied at long last. She cries as she looks up at him and touches his face softly in stark contrast to the friction between their two bodies.

He starts to ask her about it, but she puts her finger on his lips. "No words."

Absolutely. Edward nods. _No words._ Their eyes lock together instead - and they remain fixed throughout their coupling, even as sweat pours off their bare skin, even as it gets into his eyes and drops down onto her face.

He's not crying any tears, but she still is. This isn't like her - not at all - but he can't look away.

But once she starts to moan deeply, she finds it harder and harder to maintain eye contact.

"It's okay, " Edward whispers to her.

With those two words of permission, she climaxes, grabbing onto him with the tightest, most fierce hug he's ever experienced. And she doesn't let go or give him any room to maneuver afterwards, either. It's as if she needs his hug more than anything. So, he buries his head in her neck when it's time for him to finish and continues to hold her until he's done.

"Don't let go," The Doc says as he pants in her ear.

"I won't," Edward says.

"No. I mean of _me_. Don't let go of me."

Edward lifts his head. "What do you mean?"

"Don't let me fade away again."

" _Never."_

Edward places his forehead on hers and gently rubs her nose with his own. Yet all the while, he wonders if he had any part in her disappearance and how he can possibly prevent it from happening in the future.

"Were you dead? Like when my Riddler part died?"

"No," The Doc answers. "But I just couldn't participate in life anymore - and the booze had lost its usefulness."

"What do you mean?"

"It's just too much," The Doc answers, tears threatening to form in her eyes again. "It's just too hard to go it alone."

"You're _not_ alone," Edward insists and then kisses her. "You've got me. You've got Lee, Leslie, and even Dini."

The Doc groans and rolls out from underneath him, sitting up on her side of the bed. "You just don't understand, do you, Edward?"

No, he really doesn't. She lets out a deep sigh and shakes her head.

"You'll never understand. But you _could_ help me to survive in here. That would be nice." She grabs her nightgown and slips it back on. There's that resigned shake of her head again. "But, I just don't think you know how to."

"Tell me what I need to do."

"You should want to -" She stops herself. Edward watches her give a sharp tug on the straps of her nightgown as if in frustration."Oh, never mind. If I have to tell you, the _entire_ point is lost. Just go back to sleep."


	87. Chapter 87

Edward wakes up to the scent of bed sheets filled with HER. The Doc.

 _Mmmm. . ._

They don't smell like alcohol this time. It's so nice. He grabs her sleeping form and pulls her in close, wrapping himself around her.

"Good morning," she says softly. "You slept through the rest of the night okay?"

"Very much so," Edward assures her, nuzzling her earlobe. "You didn't even need to break out the cold compress this time."

"Well, you mostly woke yourself before you needed it."

"Oh, that's right - I sat up," he says. "Not a very conducive position for a cold compress."

"No, not at all." She rolls underneath him so she can face him.

"Hey Doc, why is it always _you_ that helps me through this stuff? I understand why Leslie wouldn't be equipped to help me, but why have I never awakened to Lee?"

"She's not whole," The Doc replies as if the answer should be obvious. "She can't handle it - she's the weakest one of us all."

"Does that mean _you're_ whole?" Edward asks.

"Hardly," The Doc says wryly. "I have a gaping hole in my heart where Kristen was torn out and two more in my womb. I fill them with alcohol."

Her bravado doesn't last - she looks down and won't look back up at him. So, he just places his forehead upon hers and strokes her hair as she fights tears. Unlike the other two, he knows this one doesn't like having her emotions exposed. "Shh. . . Doc, it's okay. You don't have -"

She pulls out from underneath him and heads to the bathroom - then she _definitely_ locks the door behind her.

* * *

Edward, still in his robe and pajamas, makes his way downstairs for breakfast after tidying up in his office and stumbles upon The Doc pouring herself a drink.

"Hey, do you really want to be doing that?"

"The kid's not around."

"That's beside the point."

She sighs, sets the glass down, and just stares at it for a moment.

"Doc, this body of yours hasn't drunk in so long that there's no way you should be having any withdrawal symptoms anymore. Do you really want to ruin that by starting up again?"

"Are you calling me an addict?" Her eyes are like daggers as she challenges him.

This had never come up between them before, yet it had been a festering problem. They had never put a name to it, but well, yes, 'addiction' seemed to fit.

"I don't know what to tell you, Doc. How long have you been back in this body before you wanted to get back at it? Polluting it with copious amounts of that toxin and making it even more difficult for everyone in there," Edward says. "And _me_."

"Fuck you, Edward," she says and stalks off.

He notices that she leaves the booze behind though.

* * *

Edward finishes up his lonely breakfast, and after he clears the dishes, he finds himself placing his hand over the breast pocket of his robe - the one with the remote inside of it. Now that all three of them are in there, he needs to tell them something, but The Doc . . .

Edward finds her up in their bedroom, lying on the bed, watching the restless sea through the window. She seems . . . _despondent._

"Hey," he says quietly, sitting down beside her.

"Hey," she answers. "Lila's test results should be ready today, right?"

"Yes. Last night I prepped the samples you took, so they're all ready to go." Edward sighs. "That means I'll be heading back to the Island today - even though it's Saturday."

"Thank you," she says, putting her hand over his. "We really should know as soon as possible."

"I know," he replies and just sits there quietly for a bit, before breaking the news. "The other baby is still alive."

"What?!" The Doc says, sitting bolt upright. "What other baby?"

"Butch and Tabby's baby - Cyrus."

"What? How?"

"I don't know. It's just he . . . rose from the goo or something."

"Goddammit, Lee!" The Doc yells. "Ugh. She wants to talk to you, and Leslie's going to let her through. Brace yourself - this is going to be one clown short of a circus."

"Edward!" Lee says as she comes through and grabs onto both of his arms, a manic light in her eyes. "Is it true? Cyrus is alive?"

"Yes."

She smiles broadly and then stands up, frantically pacing. "You know what this means."

"Enlighten me."

"Kristen is still alive."

"I don't follow."

"If Cyrus can rise from the ashes - or goo - as you so eloquently put it, then Kristen must be able to regenerate as well. She's alive, Edward! She HAS to be!"


	88. Chapter 88

"Lee, Kristen is dead. DEAD." Edward says emphatically, with tears swimming in his eyes. "No matter how much you may wish otherwise, she's _gone,_ Lee. You need to face facts."

"No," she says. "All we have to do is go back to the house where we buried her -"

"No, Lee."

"Yes!" Lee says emphatically. "Why are you so against this? If Cyrus can come back, so can she! We buried our child _alive,_ Edward - she was in a cryogenic chamber."

No, she wasn't - they had taken her out.

"Don't you remember?" Lee presses. "We must go back and save her."

How could she forget Kristen's tiny little decomposed hand - the one that she had pulled to her cheek in her grief? Even if she had originally been designed to regenerate - there was nothing left of their daughter to save. The tears fall heavily onto Edward's face. So heavily in fact that he can barely wipe them away.

"Lee, please don't."

"Don't what?"

"Open this wound. I've been trying to heal," he sobs. "I've been trying so hard to heal. . ."

Just then the doorbell begins its sequence of chimes, startling them.

"Who's that?" Lee asks.

"I don't know," Edward answers. "But I can tell you one thing - it's the present, not past. You need to let Kristen go, Lee. She's gone."

He wipes the tears from his face as best he can and heads downstairs to answer the door.

* * *

And it's the present, alright. In more ways than one.

Dini stands at their door, holding a gift that is too large for her tiny little hands. It's wrapped in a cream-colored paper and has a huge pink bow on it that's so large it obscures her face.

"Happy birthday!" she screeches.

"What?" he asks as she dumps the package into his hands.

"I have decided that it is _your_ birthday today."

"Have you, now?"

"Yes, Dr. Thompkins told me that you won't tell anyone when it really is, so I have decided that it's today - exactly six months from my birthday."

She had come uncannily close, but he's never going to tell her that.

"I was born at the height of crab season and I've decided that your birthday is now, at the opening of squid season."

"Squid?"

"Yes!" she says excitedly. "They hunt at night, lurking in the dark and then they dart out into the light to grab their prey. That's why a ton of them hang out along the piers in the Horseshoe Marina - there's so much light there. And so much good eating!"

Edward just chuckles, shakes his head and mumbles to himself. "Squid . . ."

"They're very smart," Dini continues and then taps on the box containing his gift. "What are you waiting for? Open it!"

"Wait a second," Edward says. "How did you get all the way over here?"

"Miles doesn't just sail a boat, silly. He also drives a car."

"Miles . . ?" Edward was going to have to have a little talk with him. He looks up to see Lee coming downstairs. She's fully dressed now, unlike him - he's still in his robe and pajamas.

"What'ya got there, Riddler?"

Wait a second, that's not Lee. Leslie is back in the driver's seat.

"It appears I have a present from one precocious little girl."

He sees Dini try out that word, quietly, one syllable at a time.

"Well, then open it, Eddie," Leslie says.

"It's my _birthday_ present," he says gruffly upon hearing her speak one of his childhood names.

"I know." Leslie can tell that something's bothering him and that he's trying hard to hide it - for Dini's sake. She comes over to him and says gently, "We picked you out something special. Dini couldn't bear the thought of you not having a birthday, so she picked a out date for you, too."

He just stares at her, his jaw hung open. _Why_ would she do something like this? _How_ could she allow Dini to do something like this?

The smell of splinters baking as they float within an unrelenting beam of sunlight assaults his senses. He can smell something else even more vile, as well. His birthday is **off limits**.

"We need to have a talk," he growls quietly - so quietly that only Leslie can hear. "Just you and me, Leslie."

"Okay."

"You know more than the other two, so I hope you'll be able to understand why this -" He holds up Dini's gift. "- is a bad idea."

She nods, understanding immediately just how upset he is - even if she only has an inkling as to why. Her eyes have accumulated a watery sheen by the time she says, "I'm so sorry, Eddie, I didn't mean -"

"What's done is done," Edward says firmly and then turns back to Dini. "Let's see what we've got here, shall we?"

"Let's!" Dini exclaims.

Edward heads into the kitchen to get some scissors.

"What's he doing?" Dini asks Leslie, who just chuckles a bit.

"Oh, he just likes things done a particular way."

Edward comes back to the living room and sets the box onto the coffee table and then makes one clean snip right underneath where the big bow is attached to the thick ribbon wrapped around the box. He removes both of them carefully, severing the bow completely from the ribbon, and then folding the ribbon neatly and setting it aside before proceeding.

As his scissors begin to snip carefully into the wrapping paper, Dini says, "Wow. He really _is_ weird."

"Like I told you, Dini. He must have everything _just so_." Leslie laughs.

"Knock it off you, two," Edward growls playfully. "I need to concentrate."

After the wrapping paper is finally removed and folded neatly beside the ribbon and bow on the coffee table, Edward reaches into the box, feeling a squishy, not quite round item that feels like the head of some kind of stuffie. As he lifts it out, he can see that it _is,_ in fact, a stuffie - a maroon colored squid, to be exact. Its tentacles are wrapped around a large box beneath it.

The box reads "Stump the Squid."

"Fascinating," Edward says.

"Yes!" Dini says. "Squiggly here is really smart and this box contains a bunch of puzzles that he has created just for you and me to solve. Just like The Riddler at the Riddle Factory!"

Not quite. It sounds more like 'The Squid will Stump You' rather than 'Stump the Squid,' and it _definitely_ is nothing like The Riddle Factory, yet . . .

"Let's play!" Dini says enthusiastically.

* * *

 _No more fic will be uploaded to this site until I decide if I want to stay - until I determine if this is the right place for my works._

 _All new fic is still being posted at AO3 and (usually) Wattpad. For those of you reading Exile, it is still being posted regularly at AO3, so please continue to read it over there. A new chapter has been posted tonight (3/18) and a new Nygmakins multi-chapter fic started posting over there today as well._

 _Sorry for the inconvenience. Thank you for your understanding._


	89. Chapter 89

Exile will be in Exile indefinitely I'm afraid. At least from here anyway. It is still on AO3 (and has been posting there regularly even though I have stopped posting it here) and I wanted to let you know that this is one of the Gotham fics I have slated for deletion. Soon. Please see below for the complete list (it's most of them, guys). And please check out my Profile if you read any of the fic I've written for other fandoms - most of them are slated for deletion as well).

I'm removing so many of my stories because of possible infringement of the rules. So, if it's a series, if it has one or two sentences (or more) that include violence (just like Gotham) or (gasp!) a sex scene, no matter how tasteful, it's coming down. I can't read the minds of people from Critics United so I don't know their interpretation of the rules and I'm not going to nitpick with trolls.

I still need to decide if this is the right place for me to make my stories available at all. I don't care for sites that allow bullying/harassment of writers if their stories aren't changed at someone's 'request.' Writers/creators should have freedom to write what they want. Given the atmosphere here, AO3 is probably a more appropriate site for my work. But I really do appreciate all of the readers of my work that I've met here - I'm just not going to be able to provide you with any new works at this site going forward unless something changes drastically (which it won't).

Here's a list of the Gotham fic I have decided to take down at this time:

 **Paired Up** (Edward Nygma) – I hadn't realized that 2nd person fic is in violation of the rules because it's considered interactive fic. I've contacted admin and am waiting on confirmation to see if that's really the case or if the Critics United comment on that story was out of line for telling me to change my POV or take it down, lest they report me.

Basically, I already reported myself. ;-) Let's see how this goes.

Now, I have no trouble taking it down if they ask me to … I'm just having trouble seeing how reader imagines automatically equal interactive fic. As many of you may already know, I don't even take requests and except in rare cases, my fics are already complete before I start posting them. I don't know how this fic could be considered interactive at all.

 **Exile (Nygmakins)** **— I'm so sad about this**

 **Personalities (Nygmakins)** **— I'm so sad about this**

Cobblepot Blocked (Nygmakins)

Caged Heat (Nygmakins)

Strung Along (Nygmakins)

I Won't Say It (Nygmakins)

Forgotten Encounter/Inklings (Nygmakins)

The Angel (Edward x Isabella)

Underneath it All (Nygmakins)

Nygmakins Drabbles – Chapter 5 Only

 _Some stuff you may have missed because I never posted them here - Check these out on AO3! (Esp the first one)_

Why are you here? (Nygmakins)

Gotham Videos (All)

Nygmakins Graphics

Gotham Graphics (non-Nygmakins)

Last Dance (6 Nygmakins Stanzas on moving graphics)

Ed Thru the Seasons (GIF based Riddles)

Ugh. Because of stuff like Critics United being able to roam freely and strongly 'exert' their story preferences on this site and basic Gotham fandom wank in general I'm currently sitting on Season 5 Gotham fics that I'm quite passionate about (the bunnies won't leave me alone!).

I'm seriously considering a private release for these Nygmobblepot-positive fics (that may or may not include Nygmakins, depending on the story) for the 2-3 peeps who might actually be interested in me writing more for that ship. I know another writer who had to deal with Critics United and ended up releasing ALL of his fic privately afterwards because it was FAR less stressful. He has a smaller audience now, but he also has no regrets. AND COMPLETE ARTISTIC FREEDOM.

There is a chance that I'll just end up taking ALL of my stories off of this site in the long run, guys. I'm chronically ill and don't have time to deal with this bullshit. Deleting everything may be just end up being easier. I'm so sorry guys.


End file.
